


Poster Child Redux:  Steve's POV

by sabrecmc



Series: Poster Child [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Getting Together, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Steve Rogers, Sexual Fantasy, Steve Feels, Virgin Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony likes the new Captain America poster. A LOT.</p><p>Steve likes Tony.  A LOT.</p><p>These two boys need to stop thinking about it and get together.</p><p>Chapters 8 and 9 are fanarts by musicalluna and stitchyarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Steve's POV to the events of Poster Child. Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.

Steve stared down into the liquid pools of Tony’s eyes, tracing their edges lightly with his finger.  He gently brushed against one crease, a smile starting to crinkle around Tony’s eyes, and moved his charcoal pencil back into position to refine the image a bit.  He could never quite get the expression on Tony’s face just right.  It probably had something to do with the fact that Tony was movement given form, whatever his expression was one moment, the next emotion was already bleeding into it, leaving it impossible to truly capture on the page.  Didn’t stop Steve from trying though.  Again, and again, and again, he thought with a sigh.  Glancing up from his position on the sofa in Tony’s workshop, he realized Tony was still talking to him.  Or at him.  It was hard to tell sometimes.  Generally, a response from Steve wasn’t required, though he knew Tony enjoyed the company more than he’d admit.  Or maybe he just liked an audience.  Again, Steve was left with shifting sands under his feet, never quite able to find any sense of solid ground with Tony.

This happened to be one of those rare occasions when Steve’s input was not only requested, but desperately needed because Tony was ordering pizza, or, rather, ordering JARVIS to order pizza, and if left to his own devices, there was no telling what they’d end up with.  The pineapple debacle was still too fresh in his mind. 

“Something with veggies, please, JARVIS,” Steve requested, ignoring Tony’s mock indignant look from where he was perched on his workstation stool. 

“Fine, fine, throw some rabbit food on there for Spangles here, J,” Tony grumbled, but he did it, so Steve took that as a win.  Tony could be oddly solicitous at times. 

After New York and the Mandarin and Bucky…somewhere in there, Steve had learned to tell when Tony was teasing him good-naturedly, which was most of the time, it turned out, and when Tony was actually being unkind, which was surprisingly rare.  And God forbid anyone else tease Steve or make any ‘Man out of Time’ references.  At first, Steve had assumed Tony was just annoyed he hadn’t been the one to think of it when a reporter or whomever would make some crack about Steve’s presumed lack of knowledge about twenty-first century pop culture, but he’d long ago realized that Tony was actually rather endearingly protective when it came to the Avengers. 

Catching sight of one of Steve’s now rather infamous “Things I Missed” lists, Tony had snatched it away and cackled like a madman before crossing off things he disagreed with and making his own additions.  But once Tony took some ownership of the List, he’d gone all in, Steve would give him that.  Weekly movie nights, the odd book club meeting that sometimes ended in Thor dabbing at his eyes after an impassioned discussion of Noah and Allie and their beautiful Notebook of love.  Steve wasn’t quite sure if Natasha put him up to that or not, but he was in full support of anything that made Tony get so frustrated as to actually lose the ability to speak.  Good times.  Steve had just nodded in sympathy and murmured  how much he admired the couple’s “deep and abiding love,” while Tony threw his hands up in the air, huffed “Plebeians!” at them and left the room as gales of laughter followed him down the hall.  

For all Tony liked to poke fun at Steve’s lack of modernity, last Halloween, Tony had dressed up as the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, which he insisted was ironic, and came sauntering into the party at the Tower, tapping Steve on the shoulder with a quick, “You get this one, right?” before moving on to generally behaving as if he actually didn’t have a brain.  Steve was left with the strange feeling that Tony had selected the costume, in a twisted way that would only make sense to Tony, on his account. 

Steve had worn a replica Brooklyn Dodgers uniform.  Tony spent much of the evening making wildly inappropriate comments about pitching and catching that left Steve attempting to frown with disapproval while simultaneously trying desperately not to let a laugh escape.  Sometimes Tony said things to get a rise out of Steve, and more often than not, Steve could ignore him.  He knew it wasn’t exactly Tony being mean, more like Tony behaving like a two year old and testing his limits.  Next thing, he’d be throwing things on the floor at the dinner table to see if Steve would pick them up.   Which, let’s face it, Steve knew he probably would.  Steve had been leaning against the wall, tossing a baseball into his waiting glove when he happened to look up at Tony, who was doing nothing more remarkable than holding a Jack-o-Lantern and reciting Hamlet, and thought, _I think I might be in love with him_.

So, that happened.

He’d expected it to be awkward after this realization, but it turned out that being in love with Tony was an awful lot like enjoying his company and wanting to spend time with him and finding him funny and charming and generally being annoyed when Tony ditched the team at some random function because he “had a thing,” only to find that thing introduce himself as Adam the next morning and ask for his eggs over easy. 

Which Steve had been doing for awhile, so, really, not a big life change, as it turned out.  Tony was, of course, completely oblivious to Steve’s moment of clarity. 

Tearing the unfinished ‘Tony’ off his sketchpad and tossing it to the nearest wastebasket, Steve gathered his charcoals and pencils and carefully placed them back his case and slid it all under the sofa.  When had it happened that his art supplies had a place in Tony’s workshop, Steve wondered.  He’d initially invaded Tony’s space shortly after the events with Bucky.  His own apartment had been shot up, and as it turned out, not quite that homey anymore, what with the bugs and flirty spy neighbors.  Moving into the Tower temporarily had seemed only logical.  He didn’t think logic quite extended to a designated spot for his sketchpad under Tony’s workshop sofa though.  But there it sat, one of the few non-Tony belongings in the entire workshop.

Steve’s presence in Tony’s workshop began purely as a tactical project, gathering information about his teammate and the armor so they could be more efficient in battle.  Steve did much the same with all the Avengers.  But Tony loved talking about his tech, and Steve found it fascinating to just listen at first, though it wasn’t long before he was asking Tony more specific questions about what they could do and how they could do it.  Which led to a lot of field testing that generally involved Tony throwing Steve at things, but Steve got to fly, so he didn’t mind.  Much.  The time with the fountain had not been forgotten.  He was pretty sure that was on purpose, no matter what Tony said. 

Discussions about what they could do quickly led to deeper, longer discussions about what they should do.  The Avengers may be Earths’ Mightiest Heroes, but Steve knew they couldn’t spread themselves too thin or get too involved in the political side (“You might have thought of that before dropping three Helicarriers into the Potomac.  Not very laissez faire of you,” Tony had reminded him.).  But it was hard to turn a blind eye to a world filled with people needing help.  It was Steve’s job to make those calls, but he valued Tony’s input, mainly because Tony didn’t pander to him, didn’t take what he said at face value just because he was Captain America.  Tony argued.  Tony shouted.  Tony made it hard.  But those choices should be hard, and Tony made him earn it every time.  He honestly didn’t know if he could do it without the certainty Tony gave him. 

“You still with me, Cap?” Tony called from his workstation, expanding something in mid-air to allow him better access to the wiring inside.  Steve hadn’t realized Tony was paying him any mind.  He seemed utterly absorbed in whatever project he was currently working on. 

“Yeah, sorry.  Just thinking,” Steve responded with a wan smile.

“Don’t strain yourself there, Stars and Stripes,” Tony smiled good-naturedly in return.  “What’s in the plan for today?  Kitten up a tree?  Reading to sick kids?  Wait, don’t tell me…JARVIS, streetcam me!  Let’s find Steve a nice old lady to help across the street.”

“Probably headed to the gym, then over to SHIELD for an intelligence briefing,” Steve replied, ignoring Tony.  As, thankfully, was JARVIS.  JARVIS must have some built in Tony-bullshit detector, which was a level of self-awareness one did not usually associate with Tony, to be honest.  “What about you?  Building a flying car yet?” Steve teased, because this was a never-ending source of frustration for Tony, that Steve had been so impressed by Howard’s presentation at the StarkExpo decades ago when the damn thing hadn’t even worked.  It never failed.

“First, if I were building a flying car, it would, you know, actually fly, okay?  I’m just saying.  Hovering momentarily is not flying, it’s just…falling slowly,” Tony huffed. 

See?

“I mean, I made me fly.  From scraps in a cave in Afghanistan, so if I wanted to build a flying car, which I don’t because that is totally stupid and impractical, then the damn thing would work.  It would be awesome, actually, and you know I designed the QuinJet that actually flies quite well, right?” Tony went on.  He was on a roll now.  Steve leaned back on the sofa and just enjoyed the spectacle.

“Hell, we could add some gun turrets, a few repulsors, maybe some kind of booster and of course, shielding….and you’re trolling me?  You…Captain America is totally trolling me.  JARVIS, make a note.  Timestamp it. I want a record,” Tony said, grinning widely now.  Steve knew he saw it as some kind of personal accomplishment whenever Steve went anywhere off script. 

Steve was laughing in earnest now.  “Oh, laugh it up, fuzzball,” Tony scolded. 

“I understood that reference,” Steve replied, and then they were both cracking up like a couple of kids, the laughter building on itself until Tony was slapping his knee and waving his hand for it to stop. 

When they finally got their breath and stopped laughing again every time they looked at each, Tony sighed dramatically and put up his hands in surrender.  “Much as I’d love to continue this deep, intellectual discussion…I have a meeting with Marketing in about ten. Don’t eat all the pizza,” Tony warned.  “And by ‘Don’t’ eat all the pizza,’ I do not mean leave me the crust and a pile of mushrooms, Yankee Doodle.   Even if they are laid out in a lovely representation of Picasso’s blue period.”

Steve snickered.  That had taken a ridiculous amount of his time, but had been completely worth it to see Tony’s face. Tony had insisted on a picture of Steve and the pizza art “for posterity,” though Steve was fairly sure posterity involved Instagram blackmail, but he didn’t say so because Tony was having entirely too much fun with it.   

“Promise to save you at least three slices.  Plus all the mushrooms,” Steve responded with a straight face, already imagining how he could arrange them to suggest Modigliani. 

“Uh-huh,” Tony nodded sagely.  “You know, it’s a good thing the public doesn’t get to see the devious, food-stealing side of you, Rogers.  Your image would be crushed.”

“I like to think my image would survive the revelation of pizza art, but you never know.  The public is fickle,” Steve deadpanned.  Tony grinned wider in response. 

“Well, I expect there to be actual pizza here when I get back!” Tony said, standing and heading for the door.  “Hey, you should take a look at this stuff, too.  I mean, obviously, you’re on a lot of it.  But there’s like, art stuff, and all,” Tony finished. 

Steve had once heard Tony say that the Guggenheim contained “art stuff,” so he wasn’t sure how to take that.  “Art stuff?”  Steve made it a question. 

“Yeah, like some graphics for various products and posters and stuff,” Tony replied, heading out the workshop door.  “Anyway,” he called back, “no big deal, but check it out if you want.   I already told the others to take a look at their stuff.  Clint has already been told we are not digitally enhancing his package, so that’s taken care of,” Tony snickered. 

Steve couldn’t help smiling a bit, too.  “Ok, I’ll take a look.  I remember doing posters back in the ‘40’s.  Propaganda stuff, mostly,” Steve shrugged, remembering posing for hours while they took photos and the artist drew his initial sketch.  Tony had stopped, his hand still in mid-air as he reached for the elevator button.  He’d turned, and was looking at Steve with an odd expression, like he wasn’t really seeing him. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Tony said, his voice sounding slightly strained.  “My Dad…he, uh…he had those.”  And suddenly, Tony was turning and jabbing the elevator button in a swift motion, not looking at Steve anymore.  Steve waited for more explanation that wasn’t forthcoming.  Howard was a sore subject, so he wasn’t about to pursue it, but Tony only rarely mentioned him at all, and there was something strange about the way he reacted to it.  The elevator, ever efficient, pinged open and Tony disappeared without another word.  Steve frowned, a bit confused. 

What was the big deal about a poster?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up right before the events of Chapter 1 of Poster Child and then overlaps. As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

Steve stared at the now cold pizza.  Tony had not returned from his meeting with Marketing, which was apparently taking a lot longer than Tony had anticipated.  Eating alone was one of his least favorite things, particularly when the meal was intended to be shared.  Giving up, he tilted his head slightly to the ceiling, though he knew, rationally, that JARVIS was no more in the ceiling than he was in the doorknob.  It just felt more natural for some reason.

“JARVIS?”  Steve called. 

“Yes, Captain, how may I be of service,” JARVIS responded.

“Is Tony still in his meeting with Marketing?”  Steve asked.

And then it got a little weird.  Steve could’ve sworn the AI actually hesitated.  “Sir has returned to his penthouse,” JARVIS offered enigmatically. 

Ok, well, that was odd.  Tony was the one that had wanted the pizza to go with an evening of something called “Firefly” that was apparently the greatest thing ever and could not be spoken of without a rant about big entertainment companies and their inability to see anything other than the bottom line. 

“Is he not feeling well?  Maybe I should go check on him,” Steve offered, starting to rise.

“Sir is…” and now it was definitely strange because JARVIS simply did not have to search for the right word.  “Though Sir has engaged his privacy settings, I can assure you that Sir is not unwell, and does not require your assistance at this time.”

“Are you sure?” Steve questioned.  This whole conversation felt off in some way that he couldn’t put his finger on, but he knew he was right about it.   Of course, it wasn’t as if Tony’s whereabouts were strictly Steve’s business.  Still, ditching Steve after making plans was not Tony’s usual behavior. At least, not these days, unless, Steve had to admit, the ditching involved one of Tony’s flings.

Which is how Steve found himself in the Stark Industries Marketing Department, shifting back and forth on his feet, trying not to tap his fingers on the receptionist’s counter in frustration as she completed her phone call.

“Captain Rogers?  Um…how can I help you…Sir?”  Sheila, according to her nameplate, asked in a rather startled voice.  It wasn’t often an Avenger migrated down to one of the SI departments.  Or he could’ve just made her lose her place on Snapchat.  Hard to say.

Steve smiled what he hoped was a comforting smile.  “I was hoping to meet with the Director of Marketing about some of the Avengers merchandising?  Mr. Stark suggested I take a quick look.  Actually, he was meeting with her earlier...” Steve let it trail off into a question because he was pretty sure things hadn’t changed so much in the twenty-first century that you could just ask the receptionist if her supervisor had gone off to have an afternoon quickie with the  boss.   He’d probably been shown a video about that at some point with one of those giant red circles with a line through it over just that scenario. 

“Oh?  Oh!  Sure, yes, of course.  Let me just see if she is off her conference call,” Sheila said helpfully.  And ok, so now Steve felt like a total rube.  Tony ditches their dinner plans and he starts playing detective.  It was possible he had been slightly underestimating the impact his feelings for Tony were having on his behavior.  Now, apparently, they had gotten him into a Marketing meeting to look at a bunch of lunchboxes with his face plastered on them. 

Deirdre, the head of SI’s Marketing Department, was smart and efficient and clearly not thrilled with having both Steve and Tony pay her a visit to pick up and put down Thor bobbleheads and Black Widow pez dispensers (Steve thought those were somewhat creepy, to be honest).  He did find himself immediately reaching for the toy replica of his shield.   Hearing a click from behind him, he turned to see Deirdre snapping a photo on her Starkphone.  


“That one is going in the retailers’ promotional packet,” she laughed.  “You can’t buy this kind of publicity.” 

“So, Captain, what do you think?” she asked in a polite way that clearly meant that his opinion wasn’t actually wanted. 

“Its great.  Really.  This stuff…you really think people will buy it?”  Steve wondered. 

“Absolutely!  After New York, the demand for licensed merchandise has been huge.  The factories can’t keep up.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re no Elsa costume, but still.  This stuff is a goldmine.  And fantastic goodwill for SI,” she finished.

Steve shuffled a few things around on the large conference table and beneath the t-shirts and kids’ bedding, there was a stack of mock-up posters, one for each Avenger.  Well, except for him, apparently.  There was no Captain America poster.  Steve frowned a bit, and was on the cusp of asking her why not, though a part of him hesitated because that seemed a tad egotistical, didn’t it?  But then he caught sight of the Iron Man poster and his frown deepened.  It was the suit.  Just the suit.  Glowing eyes, red and gold paint, repulors held up at the ready.  Gorgeous, and the artist had certainly done a good job, Steve had to admit. 

But it was just the suit.

He picked it up and held it carefully between his fingers, staring at it for a long moment.

“Captain?” Deirdre queried.  “Is something wrong with the poster?”

“Well, it is a great piece of art…but, this isn’t Iron Man,” Steve said, his voice certain now. 

“Excuse me?” Deirdre said hurriedly, coming over to take a better look and then turning to Steve in confusion.

“This is the suit,” Steve continued.  “Tony is Iron Man.” 

“Well, I see what you are saying, but I think the public would like…” Deirdre started.

“The public would like the truth.  And the truth is that Tony Stark is Iron Man.  This is a picture of metal, not a superhero.  Tony Stark is a superhero.  He saved New York.  Him.  Not the suit,” Steve continued, looking at her earnestly, and now Deirdre was just staring at him with her mouth moving and no sound coming out and, to be honest, Steve knew she was about to agree with him.  People just did that.  Tony said it wasn’t at all fair.  Steve was pretty sure he was just jealous.

“Of course!  Of course, you’re right.  This is brilliant, Captain, just brilliant!  People will really be able to relate to an everyday person,” and Steve had to stop himself from asking her if she’d actually met Tony Stark, “who becomes a superhero,” she finished, nodding to emphasize her agreement.  Steve smiled in return and then she was just blinking at him. Tony would be rolling his eyes.

Of course, it all comes back to Tony.  Who ditched him.  Apparently, something in his penthouse holds more fascination for him than Steve.  Steve sighed and placed the Iron Man poster back on the table. 

“I’d love to see the final product,” he said.

“Certainly!  I’ll get with our graphic design artists tomorrow and have the proof sent to you as soon as it’s ready,” Deirdre replied.

“Actually…” Steve hesitated.  “Would…would it be okay if I took a crack at the design?  I have a few ideas I’d like to try, if that’s ok.”

“You?  You…do art?”  Deirdre said in surprise. 

“Well, I don’t know about ‘do art’ but I actually had plans to go to art school before the war broke out.  I still dabble a bit.  Just maybe give your designers something to go by?” Steve tried, knowing he probably sounded ridiculous, but somehow it was important that he draw Tony not some random person in SI’s graphic design department who had probably never met Tony and certainly had never seen him piggyback a missile through a portal in space.  Hard to impart that level of knowledge based on Google image searches.  And Steve was frankly somewhat dismayed to think what those might produce anyway.

“Sure, sure!  That would be fantastic.  A Tony Stark poster drawn by Captain America?  We’ll advertise it as a collectible, limited edition or something,” Deirdre was already off, tapping away on her tablet, probably ordering another hundred thousand Hulk diving masks* or something equally disturbing.

Steve nodded politely and took his leave, thanking Sheila on his way out. She didn’t look up. 

Once he was in the sanctity of the private elevator that would take him to the personal living quarters near the top of the Tower, Steve once again asked JARVIS for Tony’s whereabouts. 

“Sir is still in his rooms, Captain, and has initiated a ‘do not disturb’ protocol,” JARVIS replied, promptly this time, with none of the hesitation Steve had sensed earlier. 

Giving up on any of his plans for the evening actually coming to fruition, Steve headed to his own apartment. The temptation to check on Tony was strong, but do not disturb meant what it meant.  If Tony wanted privacy, for whatever reason, then Steve wasn’t going to intrude.  He was absolutely not going to think about the relief he’d felt when Deirdre had been at her desk in Marketing, instead of upstairs in Tony’s penthouse.  Definitely not.

His plans for the rest of the evening had been totally shot by his detour to Marketing.  Fury was probably going to give him a hard time for missing the intelligence briefing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Pulling out his sketchbook and pencils, Steve began sketching, hesitantly at first, then with firmer and more confident strokes. This time, this one time, he was going to get it right.  Capture whatever that was that made Tony into the person Steve saw.  Maybe it was the knowledge that if he didn’t do it right, someone else would get the job, Steve had never shied from competition, or maybe it was just the desire to show Deirdre and everyone else what they had been missing, too distracted by shiny armor, that it was Tony himself that was the superhero.  No armor had made the call to haul a nuke into space on one Hulk fly-ball save from a one-way trip.  Just a man.  An amazing, incredible, obnoxious, brilliant, annoying, funny and never dull man, but just a man nonetheless. 

Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.

Finishing up his sketches, Steve looked down at them.  He’d gotten them right.  Finally.  Steve carefully laid them out on the table in a row, then with a last look, gathered them up and transferred them to a portfolio.  He sent an email to Deirdre, telling her they were done, and placed them outside his apartment for the courier to pick up.

Sitting back down on the sofa, he ran his hands through his hair.  This thing with Tony…this…crush or whatever it was, he needed to get over it.  Running around the Tower chasing down Tony like a jealous schoolboy because he thought maybe Tony had ditched him for a walking sexual harassment suit?  Clearly, he was not keeping as much of a lid on his feelings as he’d thought. 

It was so easy to let himself slip into just being around Tony, being his friend, his partner in battle, his confidant when each of them needed someone they could talk to about ice and water, cold and darkness, without fear of judgment.  But that was all they were. Friends.  And he needed to let this thing go before it messed that up.  He’d never forgive himself if he let this ruin his friendship with Tony.  Obviously, Tony, who never had any problem whatsoever showing his interest, did not feel the same way, so this just had to stop before it became a real problem.  The last thing he needed was to damage his relationship with the team because he couldn’t stop wondering what Tony’s beard would feel like rubbing against his cheek.

And see that?  That right there was exactly what needed to stop.

Looking down again at the sketches, Steve traced his finger over one of the many Tonys staring up at him, running it over the jut of full lips and down the carefully trimmed Van Dyke.  Yes, he was really that far gone, he thought ruefully.  He leaned back on his couch, his head thumping against the wall once, then twice for good measure.  Maybe it would knock some sense into him.  One more quick glance at the sketch and he was shoving it into the portfolio, out of sight, out of mind. 

If only.

Steve climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep.  Army training usually meant he could fall asleep practically on command, but not tonight.  His mind drifted back to the sketches.  Tony with his eyes ablaze, head titled slightly upward in challenge, mouth forming a hint of a smile, but a smile with promise behind it. With steel behind it.  He was never going to get to sleep like this, too wound up, emotions still bubbling and swirling too close to the surface.  Steve’s head was too full of _flashing brown eyes and knowing grins, sure hands and confident touches, throaty laughs that would rumble against Steve’s neck, as Tony’s tongue darted out to taste, running over Steve’s jaw and back up to capture his mouth, while Tony’s hand darted lower, dusting against Steve’s stomach and back up again, light, airy touches that were driving him crazy.  He would moan and Tony would chuckle low and deep, knowing exactly what he was doing to Steve, but knowing that Steve would let him do anything.  Tony would reach lower, cupping Steve’s cock through his pants, wrapping his fingers around the length, making some quip or comment to put Steve at ease before his mouth found its way down Steve’s chest, moving slowly but determinedly lower, over Steve’s clavicle, licking and tasting, just the barest scrape of teeth before rushing lower to grasp a nipple in his mouth, flattening his tongue over it before sucking gently, all the while looking up at Steve with those knowing eyes, seeing everything laid bare.  Tony’s hand would move up and down Steve’s cock, slowly at first and then faster, harder, more insistently, leaving Steve’s hips to buck frantically upward, searching, reaching and then Tony’s hand would be around him, skin against skin and oh God, that was good, while his mouth continued to play with one nipple and then the other, eyes half-lidded, then moaning as Steve fisted his hands in Tony's hair, pulling him closer as the rhythm of Tony's hand on his shaft increased in tempo.  Moving from one nipple to the other, mouth quirking up a Steve with something like a smile, Tony would use his thumb to flick against the head of Steve’s cock, rubbing against the slit, wetting it with the drops of pre-cum already dripping from the end, then his whole hand would wrap around Steve’s shaft, working him up and down and circling in faster and faster motions until Steve was wild with just the feeling, the feeling of Tony’s hand on him, around him,  Tony’s eyes watching him, loving how this made Steve feel, for him, for Tony, for_ …Steve’s body bucked wildly as he came into his hand, quickly trying to catch what he could before he made a mess on his bed that meant he’d have to wash the sheets himself instead of leaving it to the cleaning crew.  Grabbing Kleenex to clean up the mess as best he could, Steve stepped to the bathroom to clean up and then sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced against the mattress. 

So, clearly, this had to stop.  He just wasn’t sure how to make that happen. He knew he should be above these base feelings. While he had come around to the idea that thinking about another man this way....well, there was nothing wrong with it. After all, the serum had fixed everything else, but it hadn't fixed that. The only thing he could figure was that this meant it wasn't something that could be fixed. Just a part of him. So, he'd long ago learned to accept it, but he should certainly be able to control it better than this. Not like ha hadn't had years of practice suppressing it. Thinking of Tony like this, while he....well, that just wasn't helping anything.

And he was hungry.  Because he hadn’t ever even gotten his dinner, which by now was probably growing interesting types of mold down in Tony’s lab.  His stomach rumbled insistently.  Yeah, ok. 

Dressing quickly, he stumbled a bit blearily to the communal kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, leaning in to see what leftovers might still be viable.  Which was when he heard the elevator ping behind him.  Since everyone else had their apartment on this floor, that meant only one person. Fantastic. Just what he needed to clear his head, Steve thought with resignation. Sometimes he thought the universe was punishing him for his perverse thoughts. 

“Hi Tony,” he said, not looking up. 

“Hey, Cap,” he heard Tony mumble in reply.

“I missed you at dinner,” Steve said in slight reproach.  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Um, okay,” Tony replied a bit jittery.  Steve paused a bit because something about Tony seemed off, though it was probably Steve’s own guilt over the fact that not fifteen minutes ago he’d been thinking about Tony while he…well.  Steve tried for serious, because he did really want to talk to Tony about the poster.  It was only fair since Steve had basically changed the whole marketing scheme regarding Iron Man without even consulting Tony, who had apparently had no problem with it.

“Well, I would love to chat, but I have to finish…this thing, down in the  lab, you know…work stuff,” Tony stuttered, already turning to head back upstairs.

“Its about the new promotional items for the Avengers,” Steve began. “I talked to Deirdre down in Marketing this afternoon about it, and, well, I thought I should really come to you, because…well,” and Steve stumbled a bit over his words because Tony’s eyes had gone saucer-wide with what could only be described as panic, though Steve was at a loss as to why.  “About the poster?”  Steve tried.  Maybe Tony had already heard and was upset about the change? 

“JARVIS, elevator,” he heard Tony say quickly.  And was he running away?  Steve was truly at a loss.

“So,” Steve said, totally unsure now what he had done and trying to regroup before Tony fled from his presence for whatever reason, “I just thought that the poster, I mean, well, it should be you, right?  Because you are Iron Man.  You, I mean, not the suit,” and now he was just rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.  “And I just thought it would be better, you know, if people understood that…that someone who doesn’t have powers or serum or whatever can be a hero with just smarts and guts can be so brave, and…” and oh God, he was just making it worse, wasn’t he?  By the look on Tony’s face, that was a definite yes.  Unable to help himself and trying desperately to explain, Steve went on, “And, I don’t know, it just seemed wrong to only show the suit, but then I figured I should really talk to you and not just Deirdre because maybe you wanted it that way---“ and for Pete’s sake just stop Rogers.  He clamped his jaw shut on whatever other words his brain wanted to supply.

“Wait, what?”  Tony said, his voice strained.  And now Steve wasn’t sure what was going on.   Tony seemed genuinely confused, which just put Steve even more on edge.  He’d had that feeling all afternoon, like he was missing some piece of a puzzle, but couldn’t see where it could possibly fit.

“Your poster,” Steve clarified.  “I just thought that it should be you, not the suit.  But, I mean, if you want it that way, then that is obviously up to you,” he continued lamely, dipping his head down to stare at the table, because he really didn’t know where this conversation had gotten so off the rails to leave Tony looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“I just, well…I thought it should be Tony Stark, so I gave Deirdre a couple of sketches, just ideas, really, nothing that you’d want to use of course, but…well…” Steve stopped himself and looked up at Tony. 

“You changed my poster?” Tony said slowly, as if trying to process each word at a time.  Ok, that was odd.  Wasn’t that what this conversation had been about? 

“Well, I made a suggestion,” Steve replied.  “I think it should at least show the faceplate up,” Steve said, frowning a bit because that sketch, to be honest, had been his least favorite. 

Tony was just staring mutely at him, and Steve was left with that feeling of the sands shifting under his feet again.  No solid ground to be had here. 

“You think the Iron Man poster should be me?” Tony clarified stiffly.  Steve felt sure he’d make a huge mistake here.  He should have talked to Tony first.  After all, Tony had seen the posters, all of them, and had apparently been fine with his, so why had Steve taken it upon himself to change it?  Because remaking Tony into the image he thought he should be was obviously completely inappropriate.  Again, he’d let an emotional reaction to something related to Tony derail rational thought.  Nothing to do now but own it.

“Yes,” Steve responded.  Attempting once again to explain his reasoning in a way that didn’t sound pathetically like ‘I love you too much to let the world refuse to see you’, Steve tried again, “You are Iron Man, not the suit.  People should know that.  It is..you are…well, you are the hero.  Not the suit,” Steve finished lamely. 

“It should be you,” he said with finality.  Whatever Tony wanted to throw at him about this, then fine. Wasn’t like he didn’t have it coming, all things considered.

Instead, Tony just continued to stare at him, face screwed into an expression that Steve couldn’t place, somewhere between confusion, fear and something that looked vaguely like hope or desperation or both.  It didn’t last long, or Steve didn’t get to see it long, because the elevator doors squeezed open and Tony spun on his heel and entered the cab of the elevator without another word.  The doors closed before Steve could formulate any kind of further response.  Staring down at his would-be dinner, Steve realized he had actually managed to lose his appetite.  Only Tony Stark could leave him that confused with mere words.

Apparently, the poster was something of a big deal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the same time period as Chapter 2 of Poster Child. 
> 
> Silly boys, honestly.

Everything hurt. 

The battle with…what was it this time?  Robots of some kind.  Tony had been particularly affronted by the whole idea.  But they’d gone out and done their thing, everything going smoothly, like it usually did, Tony flying above, occasionally grabbing Steve and dropping him into a better position, Hawkeye shouting recon over the comm, Widow piloting the QuinJet, Thor hurling lightening and Hulk smashing.  Clockwork.

It was almost over, the battle just this close to being won. Schwarma time.  And then the earth moved and the building next to Steve crumbled into rubble before his eyes, the civilians that had been hiding out in the basement now fodder for the robots.  Steve could smell the gas easy enough.  The robots were using flamethrowers among other things.  He didn’t even consciously think, just jumped and then there was _fireheatpain_ and he was looking up at Tony with a large piece of iron where it shouldn’t have been.  He’d asked about the security of the civilians. Tony had just stared at him for a blink and then hauled him to his feet and off the ground.  He was pretty sure he’d passed out at some point, but found himself quite awake, thank you, as SHIELD medical did their damnedest to pull out his teeth through his shoulder.  He remembered grasping onto the metal bar of the gurney at one point and then suddenly looking up and there was Tony, his hand extended to take Steve’s even though Steve was pretty sure he’d just crushed part of the gurney with that same hand. 

“It’s ok,” he heard Tony say, as if from the end of tunnel.  It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear from Tony.  But it was enough.  He nodded, gripping Tony’s hand as tight as he dared, and the SHIELD team went back to work.  It still hurt like hell, his body trying to fight their efforts the whole time, but it was somehow better than before, Tony’s presence enough of a touchstone to allow Steve to sit there calmly and let them finish.  When they finished and he said he still wanted to go to the debriefing, Tony had looked at him incredulously.  Steve didn’t see any reason to put it off.  His arm was taped, he was fine.  By the morning, he’d be practically good as new. 

“You were impaled,” Tony said with something like anger, exhaustion or frustration or all three tipping over into his voice.  Steve still felt a little off, true, but he was hardly an invalid.  He could sit in a conference room and listen to Hill’s mission review.  He tried to say as much to Tony, but when he started with the usual platitude chorus of “I’m fine,” Tony simply stared at him and then turned on his heel and walked out of the medical room, slamming the door just hard enough in his wake to make it noticeably deliberate.    

Well that certainly hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting.  Steve heaved a sigh in frustration and attempted to put the uniform back into some kind of semblance of order, though the buckles were tricky enough that he just gave up and shrugged it on as best he could, wrapping it haphazardly around his bandaged shoulder.  With another glance at the door where Tony had exited moments before, Steve stifled a chagrined laugh at the thought that he wished Tony was here to get _into_ his clothes. 

The debriefing was, like most of them, utterly useless, but necessary.  Steve knew from experience that a leader whose actions and decisions weren’t questioned was on a terrible path.  The last thing he wanted was to be kowtowed to because he was Captain America.  The serum gave him a number of advantages, but it didn’t make him infallible. Even so, he had to admit he wasn’t in the mood today.  He found himself slowly sketching the beginnings of something that looked vaguely like the Iron Man faceplate on his notepad before furiously scribbling over it.  He glanced up at Tony then, only to find the other man staring intently at him, face unreadable other than the typical distaste he always wore at these debriefings. Steve attempted a smile, but knew it came off more as a grimace as he shifted in his seat and felt the bandage move along with him.  Really, all he wanted to do was get back to the Tower, take a very, very hot shower and sleep for a day or so.  He forced himself to try to concentrate on what Hill was saying about force utilization and strategic retreat to less densely populated areas, but found it took most of his energy to keep from slumping over in his chair.  To his left, he saw Tony fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. 

With a wave of his hand, Steve stood, counting himself lucky to only sway a tad before righting himself.  “I think we’ve covered enough for today, Agent Hill.  Thank you for your input.  We will certainly take it under advisement.”  Tony snorted.

A rustle of chairs and stomping of feet followed his pronouncement.  No one seemed inclined to offer anything more.  Only Tony hung back from the exodus, still watching Steve in a way that would have unnerved him a bit any other time.  Now, he just wanted to sleep.  They filed out of the conference room and down to the garage where a limo waited for them.  Never let it be said Tony Stark left a battle in poor form, Steve thought with a smile.  Usually, the limo back to the Tower meant lots of celebration and camaraderie, but it was a much more subdued Team tonight.  It was always that way when one of them was injured.  The reality of how close they come to death each and every time is always bubbling beneath the surface.  Hearty, but careful, pats on the back from Thor and Clint, a peck on the cheek from Nat and insistence of a morning check-up from Bruce and Steve was left alone in the Tower living room with Tony an arm’s reach away.

 “Hey,” Steve started and then stopped because he really wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.  ‘Thanks for holding my hand’ seemed oddly intimate.  ‘Why did you run out’ probably too revealing.

“Hey yourself,” Tony replied.  “You…are you,” and his hand, seemingly of its own accord lifted and for a moment Steve had the giddy thought that Tony was going to touch him, but his fingers just grasped and air and his hand lowered back to his side.  “Uh….you ok there, Cap?”

“Yeah, it’s ok.  Sore.  It’ll be healed up by morning, most likely,” Steve said, shrugging, then remembering he really ought not do that when a sharp pain spiked through his shoulder.  “Itches a bit.” 

Tony huffed and nodded jerkily.  “Well, I guess I’m calling it a night.  You should sleep.  You look….exhausted.”   

“That’s where I’m headed.  You should, too.  Sleep, I mean.  You…you did good today, Tony.  I didn’t get to thank you.  For before, I mean.  Getting me to SHIELD.  And then…well, just thanks, I guess,” Steve managed, finding himself looking away from Tony’s stare, which had turned oddly intense.  If he looked at Tony now, he wasn’t sure what Tony would see, how much was written on his face.  He was too tired, too hurt, felt too exposed.  One more quiet, concerned word from Tony and God knows what he’d say.  _Stay with me.  Don’t go.  That was too close.  I don’t want to be alone._

When Steve looked up, the moment had passed.  Tony was running his hands over his arms, as if to ward off a non-existent chill, and shifting on the balls of his feet, body back in motion like it usually was.  “Night then,” Tony said, already making his way back to the elevator which opened immediately. 

“Night, Tony,” Steve managed as the doors swished shut.  Tony never looked back at him.

Steve padded down the hall to his apartment and let himself in.  Stripping out his uniform as gingerly as he could one-handed, he changed clothes and sprawled down on the bed, shutting his eyes.  As tired as he was, he expected sleep to take over as soon as his head hit the pillow, but his mind had different ideas than his body.  He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, watching the minutes on the clock tick by.  If he fell asleep right now, he’d have exactly six hours and thirty-seven minutes until the alarm went off in the morning. 

Six hours and thirty-six.

Six hours and thirty-five.

Okay, that was enough of that.  The doctors had said not to get the wound wet and Steve usually followed their orders, either out of respect or habit, but Steve wanted a shower more than he’d wanted much of anything in his life.  Though he’d tried to clean himself up as much as possible back at SHIELD, the grit and grime and stench of battle still clung to him.  He could handle that.  He was a soldier. Not like he’d never fallen asleep with the stink of the fight still sharp in the air.  In an odd way, it was almost soothing even.  The ozone, ash and metallic ting of blood provided certainty that you were alive.  Best post-battle lullaby there was, as far as Steve was concerned.

But hospitals were a whole other issue.  Hospitals smelled of death and disinfectant, sickly sweet to hide what was underneath.  He hated that smell, always had.  Too many visits when he was sick, then watching his mom go back time and time again, never seeming to get better, wondering if this was the last time as she shuffled down the hall to wait her turn behind a curtain with a quietly murmured lie, “Wait here, Stevie, I’ll be fine.” He found himself shivering against cold that wasn’t there. 

Giving up on sleep, Steve rolled carefully out of bed and headed to the large bathroom.  He had to admit, of the many benefits of modern times he enjoyed, instant hot water on demand was definitely right up there, he thought as he turned the shower handle to as hot as he could stand it.  Steam quickly filled the room as Steve stripped out of his boxers and stepped in, trying to angle his body to avoid the spray hitting the bandage as much as possible, before giving that up as a lost cause.  He knew he’d heal anyway.  A little water wasn’t going to make much difference. 

The water prickled against his skin, stinging slightly with the force and heat of it.  He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against the cool tiles, bracing his good hand against the wall beside him, letting the water wrap its warmth around him.  He still felt cold inside, couldn’t quite shake it off, despite the heat.  He adjusted the water temperature slightly, making it even hotter.  His mind was filled with smoke and explosions, a sudden, shooting pain and then soft eyes, a warm, determined grip, the slam of a door.  It all rolled around in his head, one after the other, a muddled jumble of pain and comfort and some vague idea that slipped through his fingers every time he tried to grab onto it.  He’d wanted Tony’s presence tonight, no sense in denying that.  Tony was his friend, and certainly, if he’d asked…if he’d said…well, Tony would have stayed, of course.  That’s what friends did.  And Tony would understand not wanting to be alone.  Wanting someone to be near, just to reach out and touch something real and solid and warm _and Tony would hold him up when he wanted to crumble, put him back together when he fell apart, and wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, leaning his head against the space between Steve’s shoulder blades, then pressing a string of light, feathery kisses down his spine, letting his hands run up and down Steve’s shoulders and arm, carefully ghosting over the damaged shoulder, before moving lower, down his stomach, rubbing gently and enjoying the play of Steve’s muscles contracting beneath his fingers.  Steve would start to turn into his embrace, but Tony would stay his motion, “Just…let me, okay?” he’d say and of course he would, because Tony would know, would always know what Steve needed, so Steve would let him take over, let Tony just have, give himself over, let Tony make the choices now, just let it all go and Tony would wrap both soapy hands around Steve’s already hard cock,  running them up and down his length, until Steve felt himself growing even harder at the movement, up and down, again and again, and he found himself groaning, head shaking back and forth against the tiles as the sensation grew.  “Not yet,” Tony would say, wrapping his fingers around the base of Steve's cock, applying just enough pressure to pinch slightly.  “Not until I’m inside you.”  And that was almost enough right there, to send Steve over the edge, but he was always a good soldier, good at following orders and he could do that, he could do that for Tony.  Then Tony’s hands would leave Steve’s cock, and Steve was sure he’d whine with no shame whatsoever, and then Tony would spread him apart and press a single finger inside, stretching and working the ring of muscle at his entrance, and then a second finger, and Steve would feel the burn that somehow both ached deeply and left him wanting something more. Tony would press both fingers deeper , all the way in, hooking them up, and it would be so close, so close to that spot that Steve would let out a chocked moan, and hear Tony's deep chuckle in return, a quick kiss to his spine and a promised, "Soon."  And then Tony would scissor his fingers, loosening Steve up just enough, but not so much that he didn’t feel the burning stretch, the deepdowninside sensation of being filled utterly and completely as Tony pressed the head of his cock in, slowly at first, giving Steve just enough time to adjust to the feeling of it, before pushing in deeper and then thrusting firmly now, until he was all the way in, all the way inside Steve and that was, God, it was so good, to just be taken, to not have to think, just be, just let Tony take, let him_ …and Steve gave out a choked gasp as he stared down at the paths of white swirling down the drain, the spray making short work of any evidence of Steve’s exploits. 

Carefully, he removed his fingers, washing them thoroughly.   Though he could certainly blame the hot water, he was sure he was blushing furiously.  He had only rarely done that to himself, the shame of the first few attempts before the serum when he was convinced he was probably a bound-for-hell deviant making it a fairly unpleasant bit of experimenting and then, well, he’d just never really felt the desire to…do that.  Until now.  Until Tony.  Jesus, he had to stop this.  This thing with Tony was making him crazy. 

Stepping out of the shower and turning off the water, Steve swiped a hand over the fogged-up mirror, staring at his reflection.  This had to stop.  Whether Tony suspected or not, something was clearly driving a wedge between them, something Tony seemed unwilling to talk about, which really, that left precious few things.  Emotions and feelings being top of that list.  So, it seemed likely that Tony had some inkling of how Steve felt about him and it was making him wildly uncomfortable.  Steve knew he couldn’t compartmentalize this part of his attraction to Tony from the emotional part. The only solution was to stop all of it.  Not that he thought he could simply turn it off like a…well, like a faucet, but he could certainly train himself to stop making it an issue.  That started with leaving these…these fantasies behind and letting that part of it go.  He could do that.  He could definitely do that.

He wasn’t sure who he was trying so hard to convince.

The next morning, his shoulder was considerably better and his resolve was strong.  He shortened his morning run a bit, but still did it, took a quick shower that was only a shower and made it down to the kitchen in time to have breakfast with most of the team.  It was a little after nine, and Steve knew from experience that Tony wouldn’t make it down for a bit.  Steve eyed the dwindling coffee.  Seeing Clint set his empty cup on the table, Steve grabbed the coffee pot and poured the last bit into one of Tony’s obnoxious “Kiss Me, I’m Iron Man” mugs.  Sure enough, a bit later, Tony stumbled in, looking blearily at the room, raising a questioning eyebrow at Steve, who responded with a succinct, “Better.”

Tony made a beeline for the coffee machine, and Steve watched the rather comical way his whole body deflated at the sight of the empty pot.  He couldn’t help but laugh a bit at Tony’s dramatic disappointment. 

“I snagged the last cup when I heard you coming down the stairs.  Clint was eyeing it,” Steve said.  Clint looked at him from the back of the sofa with a reproachful expression.  Steve ignored him.

Tony was smiling happily into his mug, grinning at Clint.  “You could just make more, Tweety,” he teased, and Steve saw Clint’s hand in motion in time to snatch the practice arrow as it sailed across the breakfast table in Tony’s general direction.  He was pretty sure Barton wouldn’t actually shoot Tony over something like coffee, even with a practice arrow.  Pretty sure.

“Not in the house.  You could accidentally break something,” Steve intoned. 

“I don’t miss,” Clint huffed waspishly.  Geez, next time there was an alien invasion, Steve was just holding back the team’s caffeine for a day.  The aliens would give up in no time.

“You could break Tony then and where would we be?” Steve asked in what he hoped was a resolute tone.

“Less annoyed and more caffeinated, apparently,” Clint snarked.  Steve ignored him, picking up the New York Times and reviewing the headlines about yesterday’s battle.  Always good to stay on top of your press.

He heard Tony continuing to smugly poke at Clint, which was never a good idea.  Feeling that an intervention was inevitable, Steve folded the edge of the paper down to find Tony…offering Clint his taxes?  Oh, Robin Hood.  Okay, he got that one.  He was this close to telling Tony he understood that reference, before realizing that private jokes were not part of his putting a stop to this whole Tony-thing plan. 

Then Clint was saying something about the lady from Marketing calling Tony about Steve’s poster.  For a moment, Steve was confused, thinking the message must have been about the sketches he’d done of Tony for the revised Iron Man poster and feeling himself blushing at the memory of what those sketches had inspired., but then he caught sight of Tony’s expression, which had gone from happily mocking Barton to something like he imagined one would look if you just swallowed a bug while simultaneously realizing that you were naked.  Clint looked a bit like the cat who ate the canary, which was also troubling.  Mentally replaying the conversation, Steve realized what Clint had been talking about. 

“What are you doing with my poster,” Steve asked Tony with genuine curiosity.  Maybe Tony wanted to redo his poster, too?    He’d thought it was fine.  Tony was probably adding sparkles and a Hello Kitty bow, knowing him.  Steve sighed.  He really did not need to deal with this today.

But then Clint was jauntily announcing he had to be anywhere but here and offering Tony a mock-serious salute and quick “Good luck,” before practically skipping out of the room.  Clearly, Steve was missing some part of this conversation.  Steve realized Natasha and Bruce had also departed at some point, but he’d been paying too much attention to Tony to notice.  Ok, this was definitely odd. 

“Tony?  What are you doing with my poster?” Steve repeated, mild curiosity giving way to real confusion about this whole conversation.  Like the discussion with JARVIS earlier when Tony had ditched him over dinner, Steve felt off-kilter, sure he was missing something important, but unable for the life of him to see what it could be. 

And none of the explanations that ran through his head in the next few moments of silence explained the look of abject horror that skirted quickly across Tony’s face as Barton left. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during Chapters 3 and 4 of Poster Child. Thank you for your patience as I got distracted by Gift with Purchase and the fun of writing hooker!Steve. As always, thank you for reading, commenting and kudo-ing. I am deeply humbled. This fandom is so awesome.

His knuckles made contact with the punching bag with a satisfying thunk, each hit draining some of the frustration the past few days had wrought. 

 _Howard_ , Tony had said.  Of course.  Steve knew that.  Knew that Howard had collected memorabilia.  Tony’d mentioned that ages ago, back when things were still stilted between them and war bond posters managed to somehow be hurtful to both of them.  Why hadn’t he thought of that?  No, instead, his mind had immediately started thinking maybe Tony kept the Captain America poster because…well, because of the same reason he had a sketchbook full of drawings of Tony’s hands, Tony’s eyes, the curve of Tony’s jawline…

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

He wasn’t sure if it was the disappointment or the embarrassment that hurt the most.  Maybe it was just too hard to bother trying to separate the two now. 

He’d tried to distance himself from Tony this past week.  Hanging out in the workshop mooning over the man was hardly helping the situation, after all.  But he wasn’t blind to Tony’s confused stares or not-so-subtle questions about what he was up to.  It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of legitimate things to occupy his time, what with S.H.I.E.L.D. briefings, training, his charity activities and so on.  So, he kept plenty busy.  

He couldn’t lie to himself though.  He missed afternoons spent with his charcoals spread out and sketchbook in his lap while Tony chattered incessantly about whatever tech he was working on, movie nights, things that had become so rote that he’d taken them for granted.  Now, faced with life sans Tony, he felt…adrift.  Moving through life without actually experiencing anything.   Just going from one point on the grid to the next.  He found himself turning to share a joke with empty space or waiting for an explanation of some pop culture reference that wasn’t coming because no one noticed he hadn’t shared in the laughter.  When had Tony’s presence become such an overwhelming part of his life to such an extent that trying to limit his time with Tony seemed limit everything else? 

He sighed and switched his stance to lead with his left hand, letting the rhythm of the jabs echo in his head, trying to clear his mind to nothing but the feel of his hand hitting the bag.  It usually worked.  But today…today, it seemed like each strike, each scrape of knuckle across the hard weave of the bag just reverberated in his head with a chant of _stupid.stupid.stupid_.  Howard.  Of course.  That made complete sense and was certainly more likely that…well, than anything else his mind may have conjured. 

How could he have even thought….well, what he’d thought?  Projecting was one thing…this was…this was just deluding himself, a failing he hated above almost all others.  He landed a particularly solid punch against the bag, sending it flying against the wall, seams bursting and fill spilling out all over the gym floor.  He stared down at it for a long moment, then grabbed another bag from the row along the wall and hoists it to the hook, with every intention of continuing pounding away, but instead just watched it sway a bit, one hand resting lightly on it to steady it. 

He knew he couldn’t avoid Tony forever.  To begin with, they had that gala coming up, and he’d been so looking forward to an evening with just Tony, but now that seemed like a terrible idea.  More to the point, he didn’t want to avoid Tony, not really.  He just needed a bit of space between them while he figured out how to let this…thing…with Tony go. 

 _First step is to want to let it go_ , he thought bitterly, turning away from the second bag and grabbing a towel to dry his sweat-dampened face.  And if he could just wish it away, he would.  At least, he thought he would.  He honestly wasn’t sure how his day would go if his stomach didn’t clench when Tony walked into the room or the air seem to shrink from his lungs when Tony let his thigh rest against Steve’s leg while they shared the sofa during movie night or the words get tied in his throat when Tony stood in his space, giving Steve his full attention.  These things had become so automatic, he had no framework anymore for how a day without them would be.  Didn’t mean he didn’t need to try. 

Steve made it back to his room, showered, changed and made his way down to the communal kitchen for dinner.  Bruce, Clint and Thor were already gathered around the large table, piling plates full of spicy-sweet Indian food.  Clint was folding a piece of naan into, well, a questionable shape that Steve refused to dwell on further.  He pulled out his chair and spooned a large portion of curry onto his plate and poured a cup of water.  He found the array of foods available now to be one of the better parts of the new millennium. 

He wasn’t going to say it, he really wasn’t.  He was going ask Bruce to pass the biryani.  It just came out, “Where’s Tony?”  _Dammit_.

“Workshop,” Clint responded.  “Been down there all day.”

Steve sighed and set his fork down.  See, this was how things started.  Now, he knew Tony had been shut up in his workshop all day.  Which meant Tony probably hadn’t eaten anything, unless you consider coffee a food group.  And this was going to nag at Steve all dinner long, like a kernel of something stuck in his tooth that he couldn’t work out.  Which meant he wasn’t going to be able to sit here and eat his meal in peace, thinking about Tony working himself into oblivion while he enjoyed his meal. 

Which brought the whole convoluted thing back to it just being simpler to start making a plate to take down to Tony. Bruce just handed him a tray with a small quirk of his mouth, bless the man.

Steve carefully balanced the tray with one hand and typed his code into the workshop door with the other.  “Hey, Tony,” he announced as he entered.  Tony jumped and swiped whatever he was looking at on the computer screen down, out of view. 

“Uh…hey, Cap.  Long time, no see,” Tony greeted him, and that stung.  He was inadvertently punishing his friend because he couldn’t control his stupid libido.  And couldn’t possibly explain why he had been distant lately without a bald-faced lie, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.  Hiding behind work and charity endeavors only went so far, and Tony was smart enough to see a smokescreen for what it was. 

“Yeah, sorry…sorry about that, Tony.  It’s just been crazy lately,” Steve tried, because it was true.  Or true enough.  Only Tony could make him parse things this much.  “Brought some dinner.  Figured you’d be hungry after working so long.”  Steve cleared his throat a bit.  “Thought I’d maybe join you, if that’s ok?”  Because he’d known he wouldn’t be able to leave once he got down here.  It was too much like coming up for air after drifting underwater the past week.

Tony waved his hand nonchalantly, but moved various tools, computer tablets and poster tubes from his worktable to make room, so Steve took that for a yes.

Steve grabbed a nearby stool and sat down opposite Tony, spreading out the fare.  “So, what are you working on?” he asked, trying to keep any questions about his recent absence at bay.  Tony usually loved to talk about his work.  Or, really, anything to do with himself, which was generally just fine with Steve.  Some would probably call Tony a braggart, and maybe there was some truth to that, but the man backed it up with genuinely amazing displays of genius, even Steve could figure that much out.  And it never sounded like bragging when he was talking to Steve, anyway.  More like Tony just wanting to share because he thought it was the most interesting thing in the world and who wouldn’t want to know about the most interesting thing in the world?  Plus, Tony actually listened when Steve had a comment or suggestion about how the tech might function better in battle or where a weakness could be exploited that Tony, in his zest for better, faster, stronger, may have missed.

Tony, to Steve’s surprise, didn’t rise to the bait, and actually flushed a bit and demurred with a dismissive shrug and flat-voiced, “Nothing much, really.  Just the…uh…the armor.  And stuff.”  Okay, then.  Tony not wanting to share was definitely different.  Steve wondered if Tony’s reticence was payback for being ignored the past week, but quickly dismissed the idea.  The man had many faults, but he wasn’t petty.  Tony poked at his food, leaving silence between them. 

Steve made a couple more stabs at conversation, all of which fell flat.  Tony indicated he was done by pushing away from the table and heading back to his workstation with a quickly muttered, “Thanks, Cap.”  Steve gathered the dishes and deposited them in the dishwasher on his way back to his room. 

Well…that had been an unmitigated disaster. If that was how things were going to be until he got his feelings for Tony under control…well…that just obviously was not acceptable.  Clearly, pushing Tony away had not only failed to stop Steve from thinking about Tony…well, like that…but had also managed to hurt Tony in the process.  Steve knew that for all Tony’s outward bravado, he carried Atlas-worthy burdens on his shoulders that always seemed one slip away from crushing him under their weight, and while Tony never let that stop him, he could be surprisingly and unnecessarily hard on himself when he did slip or when he perceived, often wrongly, that he had.  Since Steve had been the one to put the distance there, Tony naturally assumed it was something he’d done, and Steve had known that about Tony’s personality, and done it anyway because he’d wanted to escape his own ridiculous feelings, thinking only about himself and how to make this as simple as possible for himself, without stopping to think how it would look to Tony with absolutely no explanation.

A stab of self-loathing churned in Steve’s gut.  He would have to do something to make this right, he thought, as he shut the door to his apartment, stripped out of his clothes as he went to his bedroom.  He put on the loose-fitting pajama bottoms and lay down atop the cool sheets on the bed, trying to think of something that could convince Tony that this wasn’t about Tony or anything Tony had done, just Steve and his…his…crush?  That sounded too high-school, but the word ‘crush’ had the ring of desperate truth to it.  That was what it felt like sometimes, being crushed, everything wrung out, every feeling squeezed forth in Tony’s wake, but unable to do anything about it, immobilized by the force of it all.  Which was really just a fancy way of saying scared, Steve thought.  Tony thought he was brave, had said so time and time again, but when it came down to it, Steve had let Tony suffer while he tried to make things easier on himself by pushing Tony away. 

And he didn’t even really want to do that.  Push Tony away.  That was…that was a desperation move, to give himself space to think, to figure out a way to put this behind him, but now he’d managed to accomplish the thing he had been trying to prevent, and hurt Tony in the process with his selfishness.  Which was the last thing he’d wanted to do.  Not to Tony.  And now that he had time to think back on the situation, that was the pallor hanging over Tony down in the workshop. Guilt.  Steve’s gut twisted with remorse.  He’d done that.  He’d made Tony feel that way.  All because of his own inability to control himself and disappointment that Tony didn’t feel the same.  Well, why would he, behaving like this? Steve thought.  He wanted Tony to know how remarkable he was, how amazing and brilliant and brave, how kind he was, not feeling guilty over some non-existent slight.  He needed to figure out a way to make Tony understand that, make him see himself the way Steve saw him.  If he could just show him that, let him see, for just a moment, how incredible he was, then maybe he wouldn’t do this to himself, shut himself off like he did, shut everyone out.   If he could…if he could…he’d show Tony, let him understand, make him feel what Steve felt when he looked at him, listened to him, he could _walk back down to the workroom, Tony would grumble, but would let him in, probably try to ignore Steve while he kept on working on nothing, but Steve would grip the stool and turn Tony toward him, leaning over, making Tony look up and then…and then…Steve would kneel down, settle himself between Tony’s knees, let Tony peer down at him, because he knew Tony would like that.  Tony would be startled, open his mouth to question, but his words would be choked off in a sputter when Steve would grip Tony’s hips and angle them lower, then move his hands to Tony’s fly, unbuttoning and unzipping him as Tony groaned, low and deep.  But Steve could keep him still, if he wanted, or let him move, he could let Tony…he could let Tony take his cock out, “You want this?” Tony would ask, because Tony would like to tease, would want to hear Steve talk, hear Steve ask for it.  His eyes would be gleaming, waiting, expectant, and Steve would answer, “Yes, God, yes,” as Tony threaded blunt, calloused fingers through his hair, pulling his head forward and down, letting Steve take the head of Tony’s cock in his mouth where it would already be jutting up towards Tony’s stomach.  Steve would smell the musky heat of him, sex and sweat and motor oil and Tony.  Tony would moan, low and throaty, and Steve would feel it reverberate through him as he swirled his tongue over the head of Tony’s cock, working the slit with the tip of his tongue, tasking the bitter, salty rush as Tony leaked pre-come, laving it on his tongue and spreading it over the head for lubrication, letting just the barest scrape of teeth tease along the head of Tony’s cock before licking the spot with his tongue.  Tony’s hands would tighten in his hair, moving his head forward as Tony thrust his hips up, angling just so, and Steve would feel the tap of Tony’s shaft hitting the back of his throat, once, twice and then again, as Tony shifted beneath him, using his fingers in Steve’s hair to angle his mouth this way and that, working him up and down Tony’s length.  Steve would flatten his tongue along the smooth underside and let Tony’s cock lay there for a moment, resting deep inside, wrapped in the warm, wet heat of Steve’s mouth.  He would look up to see Tony’s pupils blown dark, face flushed, words meaning nothing and everything spilling from his lips and Steve would know that he’d done that to him, that Tony was that far gone because of him, because of this.  Steve would let one hand leave Tony’s hip to wrap around the base of Tony’s cock, stroking gently at first and then with more pressure, all the while moving  his mouth up and down the length of Tony’s cock, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, lightly at first, then harder, meaning it, moving in long, wet strokes, letting Tony’s hands guide him until Tony lost all sense of rhythm, hips thrusting wildly, hands fisted hard in Steve’s hair, pulling him forward, letting him take Tony’s full length in, feeling his chin tap against Tony’s balls as they tightened, and he moved his hand to cup and squeeze, and then the rough, rich spurt filling the back of his throat as Tony would come, shouting Steve’s name, Steve’s name and nothing else, nothing else, just that, just this, just…Tony, just Tony, just…_

Well, that wasn’t exactly getting over it, Steve thought as years of Army life kicked in to keep him from spilling all over the sheets. 

He trudged resolutely to the bathroom to clean up and leaned heavily against the counter, sparing a glance at his flushed face in the mirror before turning away with a grimace.  So, obviously, this had to stop.  He’d never taken the easy way out before, never put his own needs or wants above what was best for a friend or for the team, and yet here he was, jerking himself off to thoughts of Tony again like he hadn’t just spent hours in the gym trying to work that desire out through a punching bag.  But, enough was enough. This stopped now.  The benefit was tomorrow night.  He and Tony were the only Avengers that would be in attendance, and he could spend the evening repairing his relationship with Tony, or at least trying to start to do so.  He gathered himself with a deep sigh and headed back to bed, eventually managing to fall into a fitful sleep.

He couldn’t remember his dreams, but woke up hard.  He ignored it and let the cold water of the shower hit him while he mentally recited the Military Code of Ethics, not failing to miss the irony there.

He dressed carefully for the gala, discarding a never-worn tuxedo in favor of his Army dress uniform.  He rarely got a chance to wear it, but this was a benefit for the DAV, so it seemed appropriate to show respect for those who’d served.  He waited impatiently in the living room for Tony to arrive.  He heard Tony’s footfalls on the top steps before the man himself appeared on the staircase.  Of course, Tony managed to look fantastic, as always, Steve thought, before pushing anything further along those lines from his mind. Tony had paused midway down the stairs and was staring oddly at Steve, making Steve wonder for a moment if Tony hadn’t meant for them to go together.  Maybe Tony had plans.  He hadn’t…well, he hadn’t even considered that, but, of course, he should have realized…

“Hey Tony,” Steve called softly, unsure now if he should indicate that he would just meet Tony at the event.  He should’ve checked with JARVIS, instead of building this whole evening up as some kind of not-date relationship repair evening with Tony.  Tony looked distinctly uncomfortable and seemed at a loss for words for a moment.  Probably hadn’t been expecting Steve to be waiting on him.  Dammit.  Why hadn’t he asked if Tony had already made…arrangements…for the night?  He should never have assumed.  Or should have assumed that, of course, Tony had someone to go with, because, well, he was Tony.  So.  Yeah.  _Now I’ll just stand here stupidly and pretend I wasn’t pretending this was a pretend date,_ Steve thought harshly.

“Hey yourself,” Tony finally responded, seeming to come back to himself.  “Looking good there, Cap,” Tony continued more evenly.

“Thanks, you too,” Steve replied, smiling a bit and trying to sound nonchalant as  ‘You’re beautiful’ was probably not the appropriate observation amongst friends.

At Tony’s insistence, they ended up taking the Saleen.  Steve suspected it was because Tony knew he liked Tony’s cars, which was just the kind of weird reconciliation gesture Tony would decide to make, so Steve was determined to meet him more than halfway.  The party was in full swing by the time they arrived.  They were, of course, greeted like conquering heroes, photos snapped, hands shaken, autographs signed.  Steve did his part happily.  It was for a good cause, after all.  But it distracted him momentarily from his plan to spend the evening trying to make up for his past week of selfishness.  When he did finally manage to come up for air, removing himself from a group of well-heeled donors who wanted him to sketch ‘something for the grandkids from Captain America,’ Steve noticed Tony over by the bar, tumbler in hand, head thrown back laughing at what whoever the man was that was leaning into his ear was saying.  Steve swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.  He wasn’t sure that interrupting Tony now was the best idea.  Tony looked to be doing quite fine on his own, he thought bitterly before shoving that aside as unfair and beneath him.  It wasn’t like he had any kind of claim on Tony.  And Tony had come to the party with him, though he’d disappeared the moment Steve had been engulfed by admirers. 

Sighing, he decided he couldn’t let the fact of someone else talking to Tony be an excuse for failing to accomplish what he’d set out to do tonight and rebuild the friendship he was afraid he was squandering.  He started to head over to the bar when a light tap on his shoulder stopped him momentarily.

“Excuse me, Captain, so sorry to bother you,” the man said.  He was shorter than Steve, like most everyone here, with dark hair and the kind of tanned skin that came from a booth, not a beach, but Steve didn’t want to be rude (that being the kind of thing that ended up on TMZ or some such, Tony had warned), so he stopped long enough to reply as cordially as he could.

“No bother.  What can I do for you?” Steve asked.

“I’m David Sterling.  I own a small art gallery down in Soho and we are currently working on an exhibition that involves photographs that soldiers from various wars took on the front lines.  It truly is a fascinating retrospective of life in the field.  I think you might find it interesting, and I would certainly appreciate any perspective you might be able to offer on the subject, of course,” the man said in a smooth, low voice. The crowd and music was such that, combined with the man’s softer voice, even Steve had to lean in a bit to hear. 

“That…that actually does sound interesting, Mr. Sterling,” Steve replied.  “Though…thinking back, I have to admit that some of the photos the boys were taking may not be the kind of thing for public consumption…though I realize a lot has changed regarding what the public wants to see these days.”

Sterling smiled amiably.  “Yes, yes, there are some…well, rather risqué photos included, to be sure. But, I think it gives a fuller picture of soldiers away from their friends, families and the usual boundaries of societal pressures.  I’ll bet even you had a moment or two where you needed to blow off some steam, Captain,” Sterling continued, a small smile playing on his lips.  Steve wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or not, to be honest.  Sometimes people assumed he’d spent the war reading Army regulations and thinking about the flag, rather than as a part of a largely autonomous unit of young men.  He wasn’t sure if that was good for the uniform or not. 

Steve was about to respond when Tony suddenly appeared at his side, drink in hand, bowtie slightly askew.  “Tony?” Steve asked, pleased, but rather surprised Tony had sought him out.

“Um…hey, well, uh…David, this is Tony.  Tony Stark.  You probably know him as Iron Man, one of the Avengers.  Tony, this is David Sterling.  He owns an art gallery in Soho and was just telling me about an exhibit he’s working on involving photographs taken by soldiers on the front lines of various wars that sounds fascinating,” Steve said by way of introductions.  Tony face tensed, almost imperceptibly, but Steve was hyper-aware enough of Tony to take notice. 

“Yes, I would love to have Captain Rogers’ input on the exhibition.  I was hoping we could meet for coffee sometime, Captain?” David said. 

“Sure, that would be great,” Steve responded, and started to ask Tony about anything SI might have on file to contribute to the project, considering all the prior decades worth of involvement with the military, when he noticed Tony’s face fall momentarily, then recover and the shine, as Steve liked to think of it, was back on, that part of Tony that was all glamour and grin, nothing real.  Steve hated it, but understood its usefulness.  He just wished Tony wouldn’t feel the need to use it around him.

“Ok, so I’m out of here,” Tony said tersely, turning to deposit his now-empty tumbler on the tray of a passing waiter. 

“What?” Steve said in surprise.  “You’re leaving?” He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice.  It wasn’t like they’d said anything about leaving together or plans for the evening.  He’d just assumed once he realized that Tony wasn’t actually bringing a date…

“Can’t hang out in one place all night, Spangles,” Tony said in false cheer, “Besides, I have a thing.” 

“A thing?” Steve asked, confused for a moment as he couldn’t remember Tony mentioning anything else on his schedule or…”You..oh…Oh.” _Damn_.  That…damn.

A thing.  Tony had a thing.  Which was Tony-speak for he’d met someone and was done with team-bonding for the night.  It hit Steve right in the solar plexus, a stabbing burn that made his eyes water and he blinked to clear them.  It was unusual these days for Tony to abandon Steve alone at one of these functions, knowing how much Steve hated the dancing monkey act.  At least it was bearable when Tony was shilling it up by his side. 

Steve couldn’t help but glance up and scan the crowd for the man who’d been whispering in Tony’s ear earlier, making him laugh.  Was he the thing drawing Tony away tonight?  _Not.Any.Of.My.Business_ , Steve thought resignedly, forcing his eyes back to Tony, who was looking anywhere but at Steve at the moment.  Of course he was leaving, why would he stay when Steve hadn’t given him any reason to think that his presence was welcome, had, in fact, done his best to push Tony away.  This was Steve’s own fault, and he could hardly be upset with Tony for…for..having a…well, for leaving. 

With someone else.

“I should go say hello to the DAV repos. They worked so hard on this and, well…then I guess this is good night.  Hope you…well, have fun, Tony. David, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m looking forward to our talk about the exhibition,” Steve managed to choke out before turning and practically running as far across the room as he could legitimately get.  He thought he might have said something, hopefully something in the vein of thanks, to one of the DAV chairpersons, but he honestly couldn’t be sure. He hoped he’d remembered to excuse himself before making his way to the men’s room and locking the door quickly behind him, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.  This was…this was…so not the appropriate reaction, he thought sullenly as he caught sight of his red face, bright eyes and clenched fists in the bathroom mirror.  He rested his hands on the cold porcelain of the sink and bowed his head, taking deep, even breaths. 

Tony obviously had his own life, separate from Steve.  He’d know that.  Hell, he’d fed that omelets and toast.  That Tony had plenty of opportunities for trysts was not news.  That Tony would take off in the middle of an event he’d come to with Steve was new, however.  But Steve could hardly blame him for not feeling like Steve would want him around, what with the deplorable way he’d treated him the past week, ignoring him with no explanation, leaving Tony to think the worst because while the  man could project enough self-confidence to light a block, he should really come with a “Caution—Handle with Care” sign.  And Steve had known that and still decided to simply push away without thought of how Tony would perceive that.  If Tony found…comfort…elsewhere, well, Steve could hardly blame him, he thought harshly, taking a ragged breath. 

He could handle this.  He could handle himself.  He was not going to let this be a problem for repairing the damage to his relationship with Tony.  He could deal.  He could totally deal. 

He looked stupidly down at the pieces of broken porcelain in his hands.

Yep, totally dealing.

He exited the men’s room and found one of the facility managers to apologize about the destruction to the sink.  The man stepped into the restroom, took one look at the damaged sink, where two large, hand-shaped chunks were missing, and promptly took out his cell phone to snap a--what was it called?—selfie with the damage. 

Apologizing profusely nevertheless, Steve offered to reimburse them for the damage, but was quickly waived off and handed a sharpie to sign the damaged sink.  They said they’d auction it off to benefit the DAV.  Sometimes being Captain America had its privileges. 

Steve had no desire to go back to the Tower, sit in his room and think about Tony and his date upstairs, which left him in a bit of a lurch, as Tony had apparently taken the limo and Happy had returned the Saleen back to the Tower.  He swiped his Starkphone on, found Sam’s number in his list of contacts and pressed.

Same answered with a swift, “Yo, Cap, world ending or is this social?”

“Hey Sam.  Um…I was actually wondering if I could crash on your sofa tonight?” Steve asked, shuffling his feet a bit and feeling somewhat ridiculous for essentially running away in a fit of pique. 

“Sure, Cap…any chance this has something to do with our favorite flying metal man?” Sam chided gently.

Steve sighed.  He was apparently rather transparent, despite his best attempts to hide his feelings.  “Let’s just say I think the Tower is going to be a bit too crowded tonight.”

“Aww, man, that sucks.  Come on over.  I’ve got ice cream, we can braid each other’s hair,” Sam teased. 

“Don’t know about the hair braiding, at least not without Thor, but I might take you up on the ice cream,” Steve replied, not for the first time glad to have Sam as a friend. 

“You need a lift?” Sam asked.

“No, I’ll walk it.  It’ll do me good,” Steve replied.  “See you in a few.  And…thanks, Sam.  For everything.”

“Anytime, man, you know that…but, you gotta work this thing with Stark out, man.  This isn’t good for you,” Sam said more seriously.  “Plus, I want better wings and Stark ignores me unless you ask,” Sam said with faux petulance. 

Steve huffed out a slight laugh at that and hung up.  The thirty or so blocks to Sam’s place didn’t actually take that long, though he wished he had a change of clothes instead of just the dress uniform.  He rode the elevator up to Sam’s new apartment, which was actually pretty close to the Tower, and knocked lightly on the door, which promptly opened. Sam welcomed him in with a sweeping gesture and small, understanding smile.  “Sofa’s all yours, bro,” he said, indicating where he’d stacked a pillow and blanket.

“Thanks again, Sam.  I’m sorry to bother you with this…I just…I just couldn’t go back there tonight,” Steve said, sitting down heavily on the sofa and unfolding the blanket.

“I hear that, Cap, and really, it’s no problem, but you know…well, you know you gotta deal with this thing before it starts bleeding over into the team,” Sam urged.

“I know,” Steve responded resolutely.  “I will.  I am.  Just…not tonight.”  Ok, that sounded lame even to his ears.

Sam rolled his eyes, but had the good grace to let that one slide.  “Look, I’m just saying that Nat is about ready to lock you two in a closet.  And I wouldn’t put it past her to be able to do it.”

Steve startled at that…Nat knew how he felt?  Sam was one thing, but now Nat?  Of course, he probably should’ve figured that.  He’d never had much of a poker face, never been able to keep his feelings from showing through.  Damn.  That was…embarrassing, to say the least. 

“I’m going to talk to him.  I am.  I—“ Steve began, but Sam cut him off.

“Quit planning. Quit thinking about tactics.  Quit strategizing this.  I mean, dude, really.  Get your mopey ass off my sofa and go home and kiss the man until he makes me better wings,” Sam said with a grin. 

“I’ll…I’ll keep that advice in mind,” Steve said, returning Sam’s smile with a chagrined one of his own.  “Thanks, Sam…for everything.”

Sam just shook his head and turned for his room.  Steve stretched out on the sofa as best he could.

He stared at the ceiling, watching the lights of the city move and shift as time crept by. 

He did not think about what he would do locked in a closet with Tony.

Did not.

Did.Not.

DID.NOT.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve woke at dawn the next morning, as usual. He figured he should go ahead and take his morning run, keep to routine, but his head was too full of what Sam had said the night before about kissing Tony to do much of anything but roll off the sofa.  He found a spare shirt waiting for him outside the door to the bathroom, relieved that at least he wouldn’t have to make his way home wearing the entire uniform.  Keeping as silent as possible, he showered and changed, closing and locking the door to Sam’s apartment on his way out.  He could have taken a cab back to the Tower, but decided to walk it, try to clear his head.  He found himself replaying the scene from the banquet last night over and over in his head.  Tony had seemed…off, though he couldn’t quite place why.  After all, Tony had his “thing” last night, but that had never caused him any kind of embarrassment or fluster before.  If anything, the man usually strutted around in anticipation.  Yet…last night, Tony had definitely seemed oddly defeated, something that didn’t sit easily on his features, out of place where bravado and brashness usually warred with good sense.

When he finally reached the Tower, he was no closer to deciding how to handle the situation with Tony than he had been the night before, other than the certainty that he needed to do something, even if that something was to do nothing and finally let this whole thing go for good. That was probably the safest course.  Teammates.  Friends.  He could do that.  Hell, he needed that. Desperately.  The thought of driving some rift between him and Tony over this…well, he wasn’t sure he could risk that.  But…what if?  What if Sam was right?  Lord knew, Steve was probably the last person to be judging whether someone was interested or not.  He knew a part of him, probably a larger part than he wanted to admit, still inhabited a ninety-pound, wheezing body that gazes slid over without really seeing on their way to Bucky.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open in front of him. He stepped out into the living area, walking purposely towards the hall to his room, but stopping short when he finally looked up to see the team gathered around the kitchen table at various points in their breakfast routines.  He couldn’t help that his eyes immediately found Tony’s, where he leaned with his hands gripping the back of one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Guess I don’t have to ask if the rest of your night went well,” Tony bit out, looking him up and down with such derision that Steve almost took a step back. It took a moment for his brain to catch up to the implication, but when it did, he felt a hot spike of anger shoot down his spine and settle in his stomach.  He couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his cheeks, though he wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment at the team thinking that Tony was right or a combination of the two.  Where did Tony get off judging him, even if that had been what he’d been doing last night?  He’d tried to never judge Tony for his lifestyle.  It wasn’t his business, after all.  Or at least, he’d told himself that while he stewed and burned “Eric’s” bacon the next morning.

“Was there some confusion on which big, ugly Tower you belonged in?” Tony questioned sharply, as Steve stood there somewhat numbly, passing his balled-up dress jacket back and forth in his hands, suddenly nervous under the stares of everyone at the table, though he couldn’t quite say why, other than the scrutiny itself was unnerving, particularly on the heels of Tony’s accusations. He knew it was a different time, and consenting adults and all that, as Clint had taken great pains and rather frank detail to explain.  But that didn’t mean he felt comfortable with the idea that everyone thought that he’d been…doing that. 

Steve frowned at Tony, unsure what to say in the face of what felt a lot like an attack, despite Tony’s casual tone. “Morning everyone,” Steve offered, nodding his head towards them.  “Hope I’m not intruding,” he said, returning Tony’s glare with a stone-faced one of his own, because, really, enough was enough.  Tony finally looked away, glancing down at the table as if the basket of mini-muffins held endless fascination, and Steve counted it a bit of a victory that he hadn’t simply run out of the room by this point.  He nodded a goodbye to the team and did his best not to run down the hall to his room, shutting his door with the care required to make it attempt to sound casual as he heard a kitchen chair slam against the table and footfalls echo out of the kitchen and up the stairs, disappearing to what could only be Tony’s penthouse.  Tony apparently had no apparently had no such compunction about not telegraphing his anger as Steve’s ears picked up the sound of Tony’s door slamming rather forcefully from above. 

Fantastic.   In the space of one entrance, he’d managed to convince the team he’d had a one-night stand, ruin everyone’s breakfast, and piss off Tony over…over…well…what?  That he’d slept with someone last night?  So had Tony…or…well, there hadn’t actually been an unfamiliar face at the table, come to think of it.  He’d been so focused on Tony and his rather hypocritical accusations that he only just realized that it had only been the team, heads swiveling back and forth between him and Tony as they did that thing where they didn’t actually argue but nevertheless managed to wound. 

Steve heaved a deep sigh and lay down on top of his bed, eyes cast upward. There was air and a few beams and drywall between where he lay and where Tony was, but the gulf between them had never seemed wider.  Why had Tony reacted like that?  Like…like…Steve thought back, replaying the scene in his head.  It wasn’t good enough though, filtered through his own anger and embarrassment.  He was missing something, he knew, the feeling gnawing at his insides, burrowing anxiety into every thought, making him distrust his own perceptions.

“JARVIS?” Steve called.

“Yes, Captain?  How can I help?” the AI responded promptly.

“Can you play the video from the kitchen camera beginning ten minutes ago?” Steve asked. A moment later, the video popped up on his television screen.  He could see Tony standing at the table, berating the team for eating the mini-muffins, watched as Tony’s head snapped up when Steve came in, heard them speak in circles at each other and then…and then…there.  That…right before Tony had looked away, the one to finally break their stupid staring contest, there.  A flash of pain, brief but undeniable, contorted Tony’s features for a moment as he dipped his head to look down at the table, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.  Steve sat up straighter on the edge of the bed and hit the replay button, sure he was imagining or exaggerating what he was seeing at first, but no.  No, there it was. 

Tony looked…hurt. By Steve.  By…by Steve not coming home last night.  By Steve being with someone else.  That had hurt Tony in some indefinable way that had honestly never even occurred to Steve.  And if it had, he would have discarded it as wishful thinking or delusion.  But it was right there in high-definition, thanks to Tony’s paranoia and lack of any sense of boundaries. 

Had Tony been jealous last night? Was that what that was?  The idea seemed too preposterous to consider, and yet…yet, what Sam had said about Natasha wanting to lock them in a closet…he’d just assumed that it was because of his ridiculous crush, but could Tony’s curtness with David, his rudeness with Steve, going so far as throwing Steve’s words from the helicarrier fight back at him, have been because Tony thought there had been something going on between Steve and David other than discussions of the exhibition?

Oh. Coffee. _Coffee_.  Damn.  He’d forgotten that one, finding himself reddening even as he sat in his own apartment.  Because coffee meant something else nowadays, as Natasha had very sternly told him after one of the guys from the boxing ring downtown he liked to go from time to time when he needed to get out of the Tower had asked him if he wanted to get a coffee, which he’d mentioned to Natasha in passing as odd because it was July in New York and he’d just spent an hour pounding bags with his fists, so coffee seemed an odd choice, under the circumstances.  She had enlightened him.

Jealousy meant…well, it meant not lack of feeling, that was certain. He wasn’t sure if it meant what he hoped or if he was reading entirely too much into it.  He should probably ask Natasha, but after what Sam had said, he was somewhat concerned she would do something drastic if he brought it up. He watched the video one more time, pausing it on Tony’s face as he blinked first in their staring contest before turning it off.  He decided since he had neglected his run this morning that he would spend some time in the gym and ended up sparring with Clint for a bit, grimacing at Clint’s delighted howl as he managed to land a sharp jab to Steve’s ribcage while Steve was busy thinking about what would happen if he asked Tony to coffee. 

After their match, Steve showered for the second time that day and changed into his usual khakis and the blue plaid shirt he thought Tony liked the best.   Or at least hated the least.  He’d decided while tossing Clint to the mat that he had to talk this thing out with Tony, if for no other reason than he couldn’t let Tony think he’d spent the night with someone when that wasn’t true.  Not if there was some possibility that was hurtful to Tony.  That would be cruel and selfish of him to let Tony think that just because he was afraid if he said something, it would turn out he was wrong and Tony would just offer to help set him up with someone.  He scrubbed a hand over his face and patted a non-existent wrinkle out of his shirt.  He realized he was taking more care with his appearance than he did preparing for battle, but found the comparison somehow oddly comforting.  If he could think of this as a mission with an objective and parameters of success, he would probably get through it a lot easier.

As he made his way down to Tony’s workshop, he felt his feet dragging more and more with each step. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest and he was sure he was sweating more now than he had been sparring with Clint, though he probably shouldn’t say that to Clint.  He rolled his eyes at himself when he realized he was checking every Avengers signal as he walked through the Tower on the off chance a supervillain would save him from himself. 

He hit the chime on the workshop door, entering upon Tony’s shouted greeting. Tony was seated at his workstation, blue holographic screens lit up in a row in front of him indicating he’d been working on something to do with the HUD, Steve having spent enough time down here at this point to have some vague idea of what it was Tony did in each of his spaces. “Hey, Tony,” he called softly, nodding his head once and rocking a bit on his heels as he stopped, taking in Tony’s black tank and jeans, wild hair and tired, somewhat sad eyes.  Tony sighed heavily and offered a bit of a wan smile.  “I wanted to talk to you.  Um, about this morning?” Steve offered, trying to keep his voice steady and not pleading.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that, too. Look, Steve, I was an ass,” Tony started, sounding oddly guilty to Steve’s ears.  Steve started to say something in reply, to try to explain about Sam and the non-coffee-coffee, but then something bumped at his knee rather insistently and he looked down to find DUM-E poking his metal arm at him holding a wadded up piece of paper or magazine or something. 

Steve tried to ignore DUM-E for a moment, but the little robot just nudged him again, so he sighed in resignation and bent to take whatever it was from DUM-E’s claw, intending to throw it to the other side of the workshop so he’d have a chance to finish his talk with Tony while the bot searched for his toy. As he took the wad from DUM-E, he happened to look askance at Tony, only to find the other man staring at him with what could only be described as wide-eyed horror.  Steve started to ask what the matter was when he looked at the paper in his hand and caught the familiar red, white and blue color scheme.  He frowned, starting to peel the paper apart and spread it out, and sure enough, there was his poster, the one from marketing, and he tried not to be hurt by this, that Tony had destroyed it like this, using it as some kind of wastepaper toy for his bots, because really, it was just a mock-up, there would be thousands more, so it wasn’t like it was special or anything.  It was just…well, thinking about his careful sketches of Tony and what those had meant to him, what he’d been trying to convey with them, wanting the world to see Tony and not just Iron Man…yeah, it hurt that Tony hadn’t thought of his poster as anything but trash.  It was even a bit sticky in places and covered with the splatter of something caked on it, and he couldn’t pretend that didn’t sting just a---wait. 

 _Wait_.

What in the world? That was….that was.  Oh. 

That was…his eyes snapped back to where Tony sat seemingly rooted to his spot on the stool.

“You…this…you…” Steve stuttered, words utterly failing him.

“Yeah,” Tony said, squelching his eyes shut and handing his head down for a long moment before forcing his gaze back to Steve’s with a deep sigh. “Yeah.”

Oh. Well. 

That…that actually was awesome.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve could hear Tony edging towards panic, running his hands through his hair, mouth opening and closing, clearly trying to find some explanation that didn’t involve…what was on the poster Steve was currently holding in his hands, and okay, ew, he really needed to put this down now, but he could only stare at it while Tony choked out a stilted attempt at an apology about how wrong it was, what Tony had been doing, and how sorry he was and how it wouldn’t happen again… Steve’s head was ringing with little more than the idea that Tony thought of him…like this, but he managed to finally focus on what Tony was saying when Tony called what he’d been doing physical thing, causing a fission of panic to spike through Steve’s belly.  If that was all this was…if he’d been wrong about his assumption about Tony’s reaction this morning…he had to know.  It was clearly killing both of them to dance around…whatever this was. 

“Is that what this was, Tony? Just a physical thing?” Steve asked, trying to keep his voice even and not sound too hurt by the notion.

Tony paused, watching Steve for long enough for Steve to start shifting his weight from one foot to the other in nervousness. “I know...” Tony began, voice soft and low.  “I know that’s all it can be.”  He sounded so defeated, so un-Tony-like that Steve sucked in a breath, finding himself blinking against the picture Tony presented as Tony sat there, waiting for Steve to react, to judge him, to yell at him, to berate him, even offering to let Steve hit him if it would help Steve feel better about this whole thing…all for the same thing Steve had been doing, all because Tony thought that was all this could ever be.

“I draw you,” Steve admitted, cutting Tony’s guilt off with sharp precision. Tony stuttered to a halt, words floundering as he looked in confusion at Steve.

“I draw you. All the time,” Steve said, emphasizing each word carefully. “I don’t mean to.  I start out planning to draw that busker down in Central Park who does the thing with the chairs or that woman at the library with the three hats who feeds the pigeons,” Steve tried to explain.  “Once I start drawing though…it’s you. It’s always you, Tony,” Steve admitted, making it a declaration, willing Tony to understand what he was trying to say.

“You—it is? You do?  Why?” Tony asked, sounding painfully confounded by the whole idea. 

Steve sighed heavily. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed.  Tony had never been subtle about much except the things that mattered.  He supposed he owed it to Tony, not to mention to himself, to just say it already. 

“Why do you think I spend so much time down here in your workshop, Tony?” Steve asked, sparing a glance around the industrial room filled with Tony’s tech, Tony’s armor, Tony in every nook and cranny.

“Um…you like to draw down here?” Tony offered, clearly confused. Steve grimaced at Tony’s lack of understanding.  How a man this smart could be this obtuse…

“Tony…it’s in a basement,” Steve observed in frustration. He watched Tony look around his workshop, as if seeing it for the first time, and maybe it actually was the first time Tony had looked at it through any lens but that of a loving creator, inhabiting the space he was meant for. 

“So, not for the light, then?” Tony said mildly.

“Not for the light,” Steve acknowledged. “I come down here because this is where you are,” he admitted quietly, shrugging with an attempt at nonchalance.  “I like you, Tony.  I like you…well, I like you a lot.  And if you…if this,” he said, indicating the crumpled poster.  “I mean…if this is…” he couldn’t finish, not really sure what he wanted to say.  If this is something you want?  If this is something you think about the way I think about it?  If this is more to you than a physical thing?  If this is just a physical thing…could we, maybe, we could try…?  God, he really was horrible with this stuff.  He should just ask the man to coffee and hope for the best.  Steve finally put the poster in the wastebasket, shooing DUM-E away and trying not to blush as the silence hung heavy between them.

“You do?” Tony asked, voice pitched high, still eyeing him like he might bolt if Tony made any kind of sudden move.

Steve cleared his throat, figuring he might as well finish this now, one way or the other. “Yes, Tony.  I. Like. You.  I have for awhile, but you, well.  You never seemed interested in anything other than just friends, which is fine, really, I mean, I was ok with that, and you always seemed to have someone, so…but then, this morning.  You seemed…”  he wanted to say jealous, but couldn’t quite bring himself to make that assumption, not when Tony was still staring at him dumbly, mouth moving, but no sound coming out.

“Like a giant, jealous asshole?” Tony finally offered. Jealous.  Thank God, Steve thought, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Jealous.  Tony had been jealous.  He found himself trying not to smile because this was definitely not the moment, but it was like he was suddenly tipsy, or what he remembered it felt like to be slightly drunk, that lush, warm, floating feeling that you could do anything.

“I was going to go with upset,” Steve said, trying to contain his grin. “It made me think that, well, that you might feel…something.  About me.  Um, for me,” he stammered, trying to force his brain back online from anything other than repeating to himself that Tony had been jealous.  “Because I realized that maybe you thought that, ah, that maybe something, um happened?  Last night, I mean,” Steve finished lamely, scrunching up his face, because Jesus, Rogers, get it together.  Steve tried to explain, about not wanting to come back and face Tony’s one night stand the next morning, needing to be anywhere but across the kitchen table from a very bold proclamation of what he couldn’t have, but Tony was rushing words over his, trying to apologize again.  Steve recognized the moment Tony’s mind caught up to his mouth as the other man stuttered to a stop, blinking up at Steve like he’d just discovered the sky was red. 

Then Tony was grinning up at him, wide and bright and looking suddenly so happy that Steve was momentarily caught off guard by it. “You were jealous!” Tony accused, grinning madly.  “Captain America was jealous! I want it on record, JARVIS, make a note,” Tony practically crowed.  Steve’s mouth twisted in annoyance, though he’d been doing the same mental gymnastics just a moment ago. He’d had the good grace not to shout it loud enough for Freedom Tower folks to hear though, for crying out loud. 

“Sam says,” Steve huffed out, mainly to stop Tony from starting to sing-song it or something equally obnoxious, “and I’m quoting, that I should ‘get my mopey ass off his sofa and go home and kiss you until you make him better wings,’” Steve said, unable to resist a slight smile at the maniacal grin still plastered on Tony’s face. Steve figured that was at least partially from relief, his own answering high at the realization that Tony had been jealous not having worn off yet, either, to be fair, and he managed to think that if they were going to do this, really do this, he should probably tell Tony about his experience, or rather lack thereof, before they really got involved, but then Tony was flinging himself across the room and grabbing Steve by the arms, pulling him close and leaning his forehead against Steve’s chest, soft, hitching breaths echoing through the workshop, too close to sobs for Steve to keep his smile. 

He slowly wrapped his arms around Tony, patting him lightly on the back, while Tony blabbered about making pterodactyl wings for Sam, of all things, while Steve tried to assure Tony that Sam really just needed something more maneuverable and Tony could forgo the lasers. “So,” he began, clutching Tony tighter than was probably strictly necessary, but not wanting him to get any ideas that involved moving away.  “Does this mean…?” Steve questioned, completely unable to keep the hope out of his voice this time.

“Um. So, yeah.  I have them, too.  The feelings,” Tony said huskily into his chest.  “About you.  And cannot emphasize enough how sorry I am about the poster thing.  Cannot emphasize enough,” Tony repeated, sounded horribly guilty.  This was probably a good time to admit Steve’s own, ah, interest in his sketches of Tony.  Though he found it more difficult to admit than he expected, even standing here, holding Tony after a discussion of Tony…doing that…with a poster of him.

Finally, he steeled himself, trying to keep his voice steady. “I think about you, too,” he admitted.  “Like…like that.”  As soon as he said it, he felt Tony stiffen in his arms, and he wondered if he’d screwed up, made some mistake he didn’t even know was possible to make because he hadn’t ever done this before, somehow destroyed whatever illusion of himself that Tony kept in his head on some damnable pedestal that didn’t have those kind of thoughts, would never do something like that, would—did Tony just whine? 

He didn’t have a chance to discover the answer to that because Tony was kissing him lightly, tracing Steve’s lips with the tip of his tongue and then a scrape of teeth, and Steve was pretty sure he let out a groan as the kiss deepened, going from sweet and gentle to something wet and hard and deep in an instant. Tony’s hands were everywhere, it seemed, though all Steve could manage with his was to hold on to Tony as the kiss grew wild, and he felt Tony’s hand skate down his stomach, inching lower, grazing the buckle of his belt and then moving lower along the line of his zipper and oh, boy, okay, well, he was either going to stop this or embarrass himself, not that he thought Tony would particularly mind, all things considered.  He rocked Tony gently back, holding him at arms’ length while he took in a few deep, shuddering breaths, searching for a calm that had long-since escaped him.

“I, um…” Steve started, because he knew he had to just get this out there. Tony was, by all accounts, far more experienced than he was, considering that he’d managed a kiss and a misunderstanding over melted chocolate that was not nearly as salacious as that sounded.  He wasn’t sure what Tony expected, and felt an odd clench and drop in his stomach at the thought of his own inexperience.  Not because he didn’t want that with Tony, because obviously, he did. Very much.  Just…he wasn’t sure how prepared he was to handle Tony’s, uh, pace.  It had taken him this long to manage to tell Tony that he…found him, um.  Attractive. 

Good Lord, he could barely even think about it, the things he’d done, thought about, with images of Tony filling his head. He could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment.  He’d been in the Army, dammit. It wasn’t like he was ignorant of this stuff.  He just needed to get it out in the open and trust Tony to deal with it.  “I think now would probably be a good time to mention that this is.  Well.  I don’t want you to stop or anything,” Steve clarified carefully, because he really, really did not want Tony to stop.  He just wanted to…manage expectations.  Underpromise and overdeliver, and all that.  “It’s just that this is kind of new for me,” Steve admitted, voice going a bit hoarse as he watched Tony’s face for some hint of reaction.  “I know that’s not how things are really done these days, but…well, I was always waiting for something, I guess.” 

“What?” Tony blinked up at him in confusion.

 _You_ , Steve thought helplessly.  Probably that would be laying it on a bit thick though.

“The right partner,” Steve said instead, hoping that even though Tony wouldn’t exactly understand the reference, he would hear the feeling behind it, what it meant to Steve to be able to say that to someone, finally.   Tony stared at him for a long, silent moment.  For a heartbeat, Steve had the terrible thought that Tony was going to say he wasn’t interested in being…in dealing…with that.  Steve opened his mouth to try to reassure Tony that it didn’t mean they couldn’t, um…do things.  _Geez, Rogers. Just say it.  Out loud. With words_. _If you can’t say it, you don’t get to do it_ , he told himself.

“Just…” Tony began, sounding wrecked and out of breath, like he’d run laps. “Just stop speaking words.  Just stop.  I can’t… you…Jesus, Steve, you’re killing me, you are literally killing me.  I’m going to die right here and DUM-E can officiate my funeral and please don’t read that stupid poem about the clocks,” Tony choked out, resting his head against Steve’s chest and shaking it back and forth slowly. 

“Tony?” Steve asked carefully.

“Okay, yeah, I’m here. I just.  This is all…I don’t even know what to say here, but I’m going to do everything, Steve, seriously, ever freaking thing to make this work, because I need you to know that I want this—you—all of it.  The feelings and the kissing and the rest of it, but I am going to do this right, I swear.  No more screwing up,” Tony promised.  “Okay, that sounded a bit wrong, considering, but…”

Steve felt a warm rush of relief flow through him, tension draining and leaving a sort of languid, heavy feeling to his limbs. Tony was okay with it. With him.  Steve knew Tony well enough to know that when he committed to a project, any project, he did so wholeheartedly.  If Tony wanted this to work half as badly as he did, then Steve had no doubt they’d stumble into success somehow.

“Okay,” he told Tony, smiling widely.

“Okay?” Tony repeated, as if startled by Steve’s response.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said again, nodding this time and smiling even more at Tony’s stupefied expression. It was the rare occasion that managed to put the man back on his heels.

“So, we’re going to do this?” Tony questioned, gripping Steve’s arms as if Steve was going to suddenly decide to try to leave, which was ridiculous, but sweet.

“Looks like,” Steve replied, realizing he couldn’t keep the goofy grin off his face. The only thing he could think of to get rid of it was to pull Tony in for another kiss.  As far as tactics went, Steve felt it was one of his better maneuvers, but he paused for a moment, just now noticing something different in the workshop.  “Hey, is that a new couch?” he wondered, because that had definitely not been down here the last time he’d been in Tony’s workshop.  He wondered briefly at it before deciding he didn’t really care because Tony was kissing him and everything was wonderful.

Five weeks later and everything was horrible. Okay, not horrible.  Not at all, really.  It was great.  Fantastic.  Absolutely everything he could possibly want, from dinners to movies to baseball games and Jesus Christ, it was horrible.  Tony was going to be the death of him if he didn’t do something other than spend long stretches of time kissing Steve deeply, running hands up and down Steve’s body, and then pressing a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips and wishing him a good night. 

Steve was not having good nights.

At all.

He’d told Tony about his inexperience with the idea that he could manage expectations. For, like, that night.  But Tony…Tony Stark…of all people, had apparently decided to treat Steve like some Victorian maiden and court him.  Which was romantic as hell.  And sweet.  And probably great for their relationship.  It wasn’t doing much for the punching bags in the gym though.  Had kind of been hell on them.  When he’d destroyed the eighth one, Tony had come down to the gym, stared at it for a long moment and raised an eyebrow at Steve.  Steve had thought finally, finally, that was going to be it and found himself scanning around the gym for a relatively soft surface when Tony had asked him if he wanted Mexican or Thai for dinner.  Clint shouted from the rafters that he thought Steve probably wanted a little Italian, earning a glare from Steve and ending up with Tony ordering enough pasta for an army. 

The problem was, Steve eventually figured out, Tony had some idea in his head that Steve needed his first time to be perfect and special and apparently fall right out of one of those Nicholas Sparks books Clint read. Steve was tempted to hand Tony the one called “The Longest Ride,” and tell him it was his favorite. Good God, he could hardly believe himself lately.  It was all he thought about.  He’d thought it was bad before, when he was just pining, just wanting something he thought he couldn’t have, but now that it was something he could have, but was being withheld because of…scruples or something…it was exponentially worse.  He’d lost any sense of propriety, morals, restraint.  Restraint.  Huh.  What was he saying?  He put his head in his hands and scrubbed them through his hair, trying to clear his thoughts of Tony enough to focus, and then thank the good Lord above, there were rock monsters.  He’d never been so happy to hear the alarm.

The battle had gone well enough, no major injuries and Tony assured him the damage was mostly to retro collections trying to make the eighties come back and wasn’t any real loss. Tony grabbed him to fly back to the Tower, wrapping metal arms tightly around him as they took off into the air, and Steve spent the ride back thinking about where the more vulnerable suit joints were located.  When Tony dropped him back on the Tower’s platform, suggesting they raid the fridge for leftovers, Steve had really had about all he could handle.  He shoved Tony back against the wall, pinning him with his body and driving his tongue down Tony’s throat as deeply as he could, catching Tony’s groan as he did, and God, that was good, better than good, it was warm and wet and tasted of scotch and Tony and Steve really would feel badly about coming all over the uniform, but there probably wasn’t going to be any help for it if they did this much---

Tony pushed his shoulders back, twisting his head slightly to the side to try to catch enough air to talk. He ran his hands over the armor, searching for those joints, because he was going to pull the whole thing apart, so help him God, if it meant getting to Tony.  “Steve, Steve, we should st—“ Tony started, but Steve had really had enough. 

Steve took a deep breath, because he knew that he had to be the one to give Tony what he needed to make this okay in Tony’s messed up mind that thought he had to make this some perfect moment or lose Steve forever or some such nonsense. “I need—Tony—I—“ he attempted, really trying to say it, finding the words sticking in his throat even as his desperate movements became more frantic. 

“Are you---are you sure?” Tony huffed out. Steve was either going to hit him or kiss him, so he went for the latter, grabbing him, suit and all and shoving him up and back against the wall, lifting him off the ground a bit as he claimed Tony’s mouth again, and that, well, that finally seemed to get the point across.  They somehow managed to make it to Tony’s bed, pieces of armor littering their path like shiny breadcrumbs, Tony stripping his clothes off in record time with absolutely no hint of embarrassment, stalking after Steve with an almost feral gleam in his eye.  Steve wasn’t sure what exactly it was he said to Tony, but it was apparently enough to make the other man practically rip his uniform off, so Steve figured it fell into the right thing to say category.   He was finally naked, sprawled on the bed with Tony hovering over him, and this, God, yes, this was what he’d been waiting for all these weeks, months, years, forever.  Tony was babbling about various gods for some reason Steve couldn’t fathom, but Tony wasn’t touching him and that seemed to be the more important point.

“You know you’re talking out loud, right?” Steve asked, shifting slightly on the bed and watching Tony’s eyes grow wide and dark, mouth dipping open a bit and just staring down at him. It should make him uncomfortable, the intensity of Tony’s gaze, but he found it rather comforting, warmth and something else rushing over him as Tony looked him over. 

“Hmmm?” Tony murmured, seemingly unaware of his prayer. Steve started to say something, make some reply, when Tony simply bent down and took the head of Steve’s cock in his mouth, and Holy God, Steve’s vision blurred and his stomach clenched, muscles bunching and shifting as he tried not to move, not to press in, seeking more of that moist heat.  As it turned out, he didn’t have to, as Tony moaned around his length, sucking ever so slightly as he hollowed his cheeks, taking Steve’s cock deeper into his mouth until Steve felt the tip press against the back of Tony’s throat.  And, oh.  Oh. Tony. That was pretty much the extent of coherent thought he was able to muster as Tony moved up and down, swirling his tongue as he went.  Steve felt his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Tony’s shoulders, trying not to grip too hard, but he knew he was probably going to leave bruises, bruises that would be there, marking Tony’s skin under his shirt tomorrow as he worked, and it was that thought as much as the wonderful things Tony was doing to his dick that almost sent Steve over the edge.

He forced his hands to leave Tony’s shoulders before he did real damage, gripping the sheets instead. For a moment, Tony’s warmth left him and the shock of the cold air was enough to snap his hips up, seeking, but then the tip of Tony’s tongue grazed the dripping head of his cock and Steve felt his whole body draw up like a bowstring, muscles bunching and tensing as if electrified, as Tony wrapped his mouth around Steve’s cock once again, engulfing him and he was pretty sure he was shouting something, groping blindly to try to warn Tony away as he came in warm spurts, drawn out by Tony’s mouth as he swallowed around Steve’s shaft. 

Steve wasn’t sure how long he floated there, his vision dark and blank as he tried to focus on the ceiling, tried to find some thread of control. “Tony…you…I…that…” Steve stuttered, thoughts jumbled around overwhelming feelings still coursing through his body in gasping shudders. 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Tony said gently, cupping his hands on the sides of Steve’s face. “I got you, babe,” Tony vowed, voice soft and rough.  His lips were red and glistening and Steve had a surge of possessive pleasure at the thought that it was because of him.  “Going to make this so good for you.  So very, very good, I swear,” Tony promised, hands still running up and down over Steve’s chest in a soothing motion.  He hadn’t realized he was still trembling, but he just watched Tony, trusting him to handle things because Steve couldn’t have managed to raise so much as a protest if Loki himself had waltzed into the room.  Tony had some kind of tube in his hand and was asking Steve again if he was sure, and Steve had a moment to wonder about Tony’s mental acuity because if the man didn’t touch him again he was probably going to come undone.

Tony kept talking, something about telling him if anything hurt, but Tony’s hand were moving Steve’s legs apart, spreading him wider and a slick finger was tracing its way down between Steve’s legs, rubbing lightly against the edge of his entrance, and if Tony didn’t finish what he’d started, Steve was probably going to ugly cry right here in the bed and never live it down.

“Thirty minutes ago, you threw me at a giant rock monster,” Steve reminded Tony, pressing his hips down a bit, and ah, God, there, his breath hissed out in a rush as Tony’s finger dipped inside him, finally, finally, God, yes. He squirmed, searching for more, needing something else because as wonderful as this felt, it wasn’t enough, the more he wanted, needed, something, just more, a little more, if he could just…”Oh…” Steve stuttered.  “Oh, that’s…good, Tony.  God, Tony, don’t stop,” Steve begged, pushing himself down more, clamping tightly around Tony’s finger.  Steve managed to look up at Tony’s face long enough to see a roguish grin forming, but then lost the plot entirely when Tony pressed a second finger in, stretching him slowly, but not stopping until both fingers were buried deep inside him.   And then Tony was moving his fingers, doing something, something deep inside Steve, pressing against the tight ring of muscle at his entrance and forcing it to soften and stretch while his fingers moved, and probed, and Steve found himself gasping for air because there was something, something so close, right there, and it was…it was…almost right there—holy fuck—Steve had time to think as Tony scissored his fingers up and down sharply and some kind of pinprick spasm of pain-pleasure burst inside Steve as his head snapped back against the bed, fingers gouging holes into the sheets.

Steve was too far gone to do more than groan as a third finger followed, filling him completely but not enough. His hips were thrusting against Tony’s hand of their own accord, seeking, searching, wanting more, his cock full and hard, bobbing against his stomach with each thrust.  He let out some kind of noise when Tony withdrew his hand that didn’t at all sound like something that would come from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because Tony was panting and sweating and looking at him like he was all that mattered in the world.  He was also saying something stupid about whether or not Steve was sure about this, which Steve had really had about enough of, so he just reached down and wrapped his hand around Tony’s erection and shifted his hips a bit to get the right angle, pressing Tony’s cock against his hole and applying enough pressure to pull the man forward, the head of Tony’s cock pressing past his barrier and disappearing inside, and that, God, yes, that was what he needed, what he’d been wanting, this feeling of being full, too full, stretched and breached and filled.  He didn’t think it could get much better, but then Tony was pressing inside, thrusting deep and sliding all the way inside him, and Steve just let his head loll back, enjoying the slide and burn and stretch as Tony thrust, in an out, deep, sweeping strokes at first, the tip of his cock brushing tantalizingly against that bundle of nerves, driving Steve crazy with need.  Finally, Tony’s thrusts became erratic, hips snapping in no kind of rhythm as his balls brushing against the cleft of Steve’s ass clenched and tightened. 

“God, Steve, Steve, God, fuck, Jesus, Steve, you, God, I just—I’m gonna’, Holy fuck, Steve, don’t move, God, arghnugh—“ Tony was mumbling, seemingly wholly unaware of what he was saying. Steve reached up and cupped his jaw gently, guiding Tony’s eyes to his.  Tony’s thrusts became totally undone at that point, wild and punctuated with Steve’s name as Steve spread his legs wider and shifted his hips up slightly, altering the angle just enough that the head of Tony’s cock brushed across his prostrate with each thrust.   Steve threw his head back with a groan and flung one hand over the headboard, one hand captured under Tony’s at Tony’s hip, burrowing deep with each thrust.  Tony came with a last brutal thrust, hips, Steve’s hands clamping down sharply as Tony’s hips snapped wildly a few last times as his orgasm took over, leaving him shaking with the effort.  Steve felt the warm rush inside him, odd, but pleasant, as Tony shouted his release at the same time Steve came all over his own stomach, jerking slightly as he did.

Tony was leaning over him, hands braced on either side, chest heaving with deep pants. Steve stared up at him for a moment and then went to reach for him, but found his hand somehow occupied with a large piece of the headboard.  Huh. _Wonder when that happened_ , Steve though idly.  He looked up at Tony and with a punchdrunk grin, just offered an apologetic “Oops.”

That somehow had the effect of sending Tony into convulsions of laughter, which had the effect of rocking Tony’s cock through Steve’s body again, making him groan and causing his cock to jitter with renewed interest. Steve tossed the offending piece of headboard into the nearest wastebasket and looked back at Tony, still laughing manically.  He should probably be concerned at this reaction to their first sexual encounter, but he found himself smiling in return. 

Tony was hanging his head down between his shoulder blades, convulsions of laughter still wafting through him at regular intervals. When he finally managed to look up at Steve, he was still struggling to contain his mirth, words tumbling from his lips of their own accord.  “God, I love you,” Tony said with a wide grin.  Then Tony immediately tensed, and Steve could see the panic set in on Tony’s expression.  Rock monsters, no worries.  Emotions, and Tony Stark runs for the hills.

“Love you too, Shellhead,” Steve said fondly, curving a hand around Tony’s neck and patting softly. He aimed for romantic or at least reassuring, but it actually came out too sleepy for either.  He groaned a little as Tony pulled out of him.  It felt weird.  Empty.  He rolled to his side and watched Tony walk to the bathroom and return with a towel, carefully, almost reverentially wiping Steve down, earning a raised eyebrow when Steve’s cock started paying attention. Steve just shrugged and yawned widely.  Tony grinned wickedly and cast the towel aside, climbing back into bed with Steve and wrapping an arm around him, pressing light kisses to his shoulders and back.  Steve sighed and turned his head enough to capture Tony’s mouth for a lazy kiss.  He was asleep before he could manage to do anything else.

Two weeks of absolutely wonderful later, and Steve had gotten a lead on Bucky, somewhere in Northern Europe according to Natasha. Which is how Steve ended up in Dierdre’s office down in marketing, shuffling back and forth on his feet and trying not to blush as he asked for another copy of the Captain America promotional poster he’d viewed all those weeks ago. The one Tony had, uh…liked…so much.  

“Of course, Captain,” Dierdre said politely. “We have plenty of copies.  Here you go,” she said, handing him one.  He carefully rolled it up, stammering out a quick thank you.  He was almost out the door when he stopped and turned, unable to keep the blush from forming this time. 

When he got to the penthouse, he grabbed a chair and carefully affixed the Captain America poster to the ceiling above the bed. “Um…JARVIS?” he called, squinting his eyes shut in momentary embarrassment, though he knew the AI hardly judged him, considering JARVIS’ long list of experiences with Tony.

“Yes, Captain, how might I be of assistance?” the AI asked.

“Can you, um, can you block off Tony’s scheduled this afternoon? For after I leave, I mean,” Steve requested. 

“Of course, Sir. Will there be anything else?” JARVIS replied.

“No, that’s it. Um…thanks, JARVIS,” Steve said.  He grabbed his pack from beside the bed and went to put his last few items in his bag for the journey.  As he reached in, his hand stopped, hovering just above the contents of his pack.  He frowned, momentarily confused, because he knew he hadn’t put that—oh.  He huffed out a breath of air, as he pulled the long, cardboard tube from his pack.  Steve grinned and opened the tube, dumping the contents into his hand.  He carefully spread the new version of the Iron Man poster out on the bed. This one, like his drawing, had Tony with the faceplate up in the Iron Man armor, but it was clearly Tony, eyes intense and focused, staring in challenge from the center of the poster. 

A message was scrawled in bold, red pen across the bottom of the poster.

“Don’t be good. Love, Tony.”

Steve really had the best boyfriend ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, I finally finished this. It was surprisingly hard to write something that didn't feel totally repetitive. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for reading! See, I really do finish everything. Eventually.
> 
> I reblog Stony stuff on tumblr and sometimes post things when I can figure it out: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sabrecmc


	7. Fanart by musicalluna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful fanart done by the incredibly talented musicalluna. Check out her art blog at stepladderink.tumblr.com for more great work and info about commissions!

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHGj)


	8. Fanart by musicalluna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Close-up of same artwork

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHGe)


	9. Fanart by stitchyarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adorable fanart by stitchyarts.tumblr.com for the scene where Steve recalls the Halloween party.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHGi)


End file.
